Coming Undone
by really.need.a.hobby
Summary: Adam has a lot on his plate. There's school, of course. And hockey. And getting the girlfriend of his dreams. And keeping her. And dealing with the world's most dysfunctional family. Begins at the end of D3. Much like real life, it contains some dark themes, but hopefully plenty of other things, as well.
1. Prologue

Standard Disclaimer: I do not own The Ducks. Duh. If I did, I would not be writing really bad fanfiction or shopping at Kohl's or driving a car that dates back to the Bush Administration.

Author's Note: Umm...sorry I still haven't quite finished Not What Could Have Been. I keep wanting to give it a really good ending, and so far, all of my attempts at writing an ending keep falling flat. So I guess if you're one of the handful of people reading it, just imagine an ending that makes you happy, and go with that! I'm sure I'll come up with a suitable ending eventually. Or not. Honestly, whatever y'all imagine in your minds is probably going to be better than any ending I can write.

As for this one, the updates may be a little slow, because I'm very much writing this one in real time, and I like to stay several chapters ahead just to make sure I don't totally change my mind about where I want the story to go. So be patient. Pretty please.

Prologue

As she passed block after block of houses on her way to the Banks' house, she found herself growing more nervous at the thought of finally seeing where Adam lived. She was making the one mile walk over there so they could study for their upcoming chemistry test, and for the first half mile, she hadn't really been too concerned. The houses she was passing were perfectly nice, but they all pretty much looked like her house back in Maine.

 _I'm sure the only reason everyone makes fun of him for being a rich kid is because he's the one who's nice stuff is here. Kenny's dad is a doctor, and Dwayne's parents have a nice ranch back in Texas, and my dad's an engineer. The only difference is that we aren't from here. Jesse and all of those guys didn't have to be jealous of our Christmas presents growing up. Also, we don't have his weakness for Ralph Lauren. That's probably 90% of the issue right there! I'm sure he actually lives in a perfectly normal house, and has a super normal family."_

However, as she was getting closer, the houses were slowly starting to get nicer.

 _Surely his house isn't one of the super fancy ones. Besides, these houses kind of look like Kate's house back home, and even though Kate's house looks really fancy on the outside, it's still a normal house. Her parents are still normal people with normal jobs who do normal things. They bought their furniture at Bargain Bonanza just like my parents…._

 _Okay, this is the street. Dang it. These are not looking like normal houses. These are not looking like people who shop at Bargain Bonanza. Please God, let his mom shop at Bargain Bonanza. Let there be silk flowers and bad attempts at sponge painting and country blue wallpaper with geese on it. That is the least you can do for me, Lord. That is the least you can do for the world. Because really, it's unfair enough that he's absurdly good at everything, and that the puberty fairy decided to turn him into a Calvin Klein model overnight. It is only fair that he at least have to live with half finished sponge painting attempts. I mean, ideally to help level the playing field, his parents should be the most embarrassing people ever, and maybe volunteer as mimes or something in their free time, but I know that's probably asking too much. Besides, I'm sure I would have heard about it by now if his parents were mimes. But some fake cacti or something? That's a perfectly reasonable thing for me to ask!_

She glanced back down at the piece of paper with his address on one last time to double check that she had the right house before going up to ring the doorbell.

 _Please God. Bargain Bonanza._

"Julie!"

 _NOOOOOO! I said Bargain Bonanza, God. Bargain. Bonanza. Not "giant marble staircase and super fancy table with a flower arrangement on it that's bigger than I am". Also, did you send the puberty fairy back AGAIN?! Because I swear, he's filling out that blue and white striped button down waaaay too well. Can't we go back to hand me downs that are a couple of sizes too big? Maybe throw in a touch of acne or something? You know, anything to bring him back to the world of mere mortals, because right now, he's looking like the king of Planet Sex God, and that is not boding well for my ability to focus on chemistry._

 _._

Meanwhile, Julie was not the only one who had suddenly become concerned about the size of the Banks' house.

" _Dang it", Adam thought as soon as caught the look on Julie's face, "I knew my house was awkward. I should not have invited her over here. I should never ever invite girls over here. Not that that exactly comes up a lot, what with the sea of girls I've got flocking around me. Still, I sort of thought maaaybe I had a chance. Nope. Not anymore. I'm never listening to your girl advice ever again, Reid Larson. There's a reason you've had as many girlfriends as I have, and it's not just because you peed your pants onstage during the seventh grade choir concert._

 _Though to be fair, that probably didn't help matters."_

"Oh my goodness Adam, you are definitely going to have to give me a tour of this!" Julie said laughing.

"It's kind of ridiculous, isn't it? I'm really sorry!"

"What? No, it's amazing! I'm definitely a teensy bit jealous!"

"What? Don't be! It's so embarrassing! Plus, it comes included with my parents, and that's the worst!"

 _Why did I say that? She's going to think I'm a horrible person who hates my parents. Which, okay, yeah, sometimes, but that's not exactly something to advertise. Nobody likes a guy who hates his parents…or I mean, I guess some girls are probably into that, but if they are, they're into like, those really deep, brooding guys like Fulton or something._

 _Wait, is she into that?_

 _I don't think so. I think she's probably into nice, well-adjusted guys who have nice, happy families. And besides, I'm not very good at being deep and brooding. I can't play the guitar or paint or any of that deep brooding stuff. Plus, I think those guys are supposed to have tattoos or something, and I'm really scared of needles. Too bad she's not into awkward losers who're scared of needles, because then I'd be such a catch! I'd be her dream man. I'd be every lady's dream man. Scott would be coming to me for advice about girls, and I'd just have to be like "Don't worry man. All you need is a crippling case of anxiety and a complete lack of social skills. Just like, practice only talking about hockey or something…you'll totally get the hang of it eventually!"_

"And this is the study…..and this is the home theatre room…and this my bedroom…"the tour continued as they made their way upstairs.

 _Oh my gosh. I did not mean to say that. She's definitely going to think I'm a pervert now. Like, I mean, I know everyone has a bedroom and all, but still. She's probably going to think I said that because I want us to go in there and have sex. Which, okay, yeah, I would really, really like that, but that is definitely not what I meant!_

As soon as he said that, Julie noticed that he turned bright red, and she was relieved to realize that the puberty fairy had not taken away all of his awkwardness. He might have gotten taller and hotter, but he was still very much the same Adam.

"Oh come on now, you can't just point to where your bedroom door is without actually showing me your bedroom! You're the worst house tour giver ever!"

 _Okay man, this could be a good thing or a bad thing. On one hand, she didn't run away screaming at the mention of a bedroom, so that's a good sign that she doesn't think you're a horrible pervert! On the other hand, did you remember to put your underwear in the hamper this morning?_

 _Also, Mr. Fluffy._

 _Oh no, not Mr. Fluffy!_

 _Please let Mr. Fluffy have fallen under the bed last night. Please please please please._

 _God, why I am the only guy on the planet over the age of five who still sleeps with a stuffed manatee? And why did I name him Mr. Fluffy? Manatees aren't even fluffy…_

"Umm…you really don't want to see it. It's a total mess!"

"Come on now, I have three brothers! Literally nothing would surprise me!"

"Okay, but you don't get to judge"

 _Please don't let there be underwear or Mr. Fluffy…._

 _._

As the door opened, Julie found herself shocked. It was nice. Very nice. The kind of nice that belongs in magazines about rich people.

But it wasn't what she expected. There weren't any signs of Adam. Absolutely nothing about the room looked like it belonged to a teenage boy. Instead, it was all oriental rugs and fancy oil paintings of fox hunts. He had a pair of sneakers lying in the floor, and a small silver picture frame on his mahogany desk, and what appeared to be a very worn stuffed manatee sitting on the bed, but that was it. Those were the only signs that the room belonged to an actual person. She thought back to the magazine cutouts and pictures of her friends and old Field Day ribbons that lined the walls of her bedroom back home, and she felt a twinge of sadness. Where were the hockey posters? The gross posters of bikini clad women standing next to sports cars? The ubiquitous surf magazines that appeared to be required reading for all landlocked teenage boys? The stolen street signs that her brothers always seemed to end up with?

For that matter, where were those things in the rest of the house? Every room had been so opulent that she hadn't immediately noticed the things that weren't there—the awkward class photos featuring lopsided haircuts and toothless smiles, the Mother's Day gifts made from glue and popsicle sticks in kindergarten, the weird vase from someone's well meaning grandmother. It was like the whole house had been scrubbed of its occupants, and suddenly she found herself longing for the sunny, sponge painted walls and bad elementary school macaroni art at her parents' house back in Bangor.

"So, this is your version of a mess, huh? Remind me to never let you see my room!"

"I, uh, guess the cleaning lady came today. I promise it wasn't this clean earlier."

"Liar!" She laughed, playfully hitting his arm, "You just didn't want me to know that you have the world's cleanest bedroom."

"Darn, you've got me. Don't let it get out, or you'll ruin my street cred."

"Don't worry, I'll never let on that you aren't actually as gangster as you look."

"Okay, good, because I really think I'm starting to get the gangster thing down!"

"Oh yeah, homie, the khakis scream 'thug life'."

…


	2. Dying Alone With Cats

Author's notes: Sorry if this chapter is a tad short. I would combine it with the upcoming third chapter, but this one felt pretty emotionally distinct from it, if that makes any sense, so it just felt kind of weird to combine the two.

And oh my gosh, thank you so much for the awesome review, GrownUp90's! I'm so honored that you actually liked this enough to reactivate your account-I just hope it lives up to your expectations! And I totally agree with you about Fulton...this version of Adam is a smart guy about those things;) (Well, sometimes. Not going to vouch for his great sense in certain future chapters, because this is a 15 year old boy we're talking about, and I remember just enough about being 15 to remember that wisdom and insight are pretty hit or miss at that stage!) Also, heck to the yes on almost being car twins! lol, mine's an '07, so you've technically got me beat!

…

"Oh my gosh, that save was incredible!" Julie squealed as she wrapped her arms tightly around Adam after the JV/Varsity game. "Like, it was literally the most amazing thing I've seen in my life! You are absolutely awesome!"

"Oh come on, it wasn't any big deal" he replied, smiling ear to ear as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

"You are way too modest, Mr. Banks" she giggled, her eyes sparkling as she ran her fingers through the back of his hair, bringing his face in closer to hers.

" _This is my chance", he thought, "I'm pretty sure she actually wants me to kiss her! Julie wants me to kiss her! Perfect, gorgeous Julie wants me to kiss her. I'm finally going to get to kiss the girl I've been dreaming about for the past two years! Thank you, God! Thank you, Jesus! Thank you, universe!_

He started to lean in for a kiss, but just as his lips were about to meet hers, a sharp tug at his shoulder pulled him away.

"Son. Out to the car. Now." Phillip ordered, yanking at his son's bad wrist with such force that he visibly winced in pain. His dad silently drug him out of the arena by his arm, through the dark parking lot, and opened the passenger door to the silver Mercedes, shoving Adam into the seat.

"JV, huh? You didn't think to tell me this? You didn't think to tell me that you were throwing away your future? You didn't think to tell me that you're too big of a pussy to play with a real team?" Phil started in as soon as they were in the privacy of his car. "Did Coach Wilson not give you enough hugs and pep talks? Did varsity not do enough to make you feel special?"

Adam slumped silently against the leather passenger seat, his head resting against the cold window as his dad continued yelling.

 _I didn't even quit varsity. They just didn't want me._

"You know, I had been proud of you. I was proud that my son had worked hard enough to make it onto varsity. I was proud that you were sticking with something that was hard. I should have known. I should have known you were a failure, just like your brother."

Adam stared out the window at the passing suburbia, noting that the four minute drive had never felt so long.

"Actually, you're not like your brother. At least your brother had friends. Your brother was a man. You're just an embarrassment."

 _At least we're on the same page about things._

The yelling continued for the remainder of the car ride home, and for another half hour afterwards. Finally, Phil lost interest in yelling and stormed off to his study for the remainder of the night, while Adam retreated to his bedroom. It had been a long rollercoaster of a day for him—they'd pulled out a win, but the game against varsity had been brutal. He'd taken several hits that had left the spectators in the stands cringing in horror, and now that the adrenaline had worn off, he was feeling the full effects. His back was killing him, his head hurt, he could feel a painful bruise forming where the puck had hit him in the chest, and thanks to his dad, he now had a dull ache in his wrist. Every breath he took hurt. Plus, nobody had noticed how hard he played. He knew he'd played well in the second half, but there was no thanks. No congratulations. Once again, he was just the forgotten guy.

Worse, he saw Scooter kiss Julie. Granted, it was only on the cheek, but still, he'd felt his heart breaking as he watched.

But then, everything turned around. After he'd showered and changed, Julie was waiting for him outside the locker room. She looked so gorgeous, and she was so excited. So proud of him. It was pure magic when she wrapped her arms around him, and he could instantly feel _it_. That magical spark of electricity. After nearly 16 years of waiting, he was finally going to have his first kiss. Well, his first real kiss, not counting an ill-fated game of spin the bottle in sixth grade that had mostly consisted of Becca Oster screaming "Eww" and trying to argue that the bottle had actually landed on Brian McGill. He couldn't imagine a more perfect first kiss than this. Everything he'd dreamed of since he was 13 was finally coming true.

And then, his dad had to ruin everything.

As he lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, he thought about his missed chance with Julie.

 _I'm never going to kiss a girl. Julie's going to fall in love with Scooter, and marry him, and I'll end up a weird, lonely guy who lives with 720 cats and has never kissed a girl, and if anyone asks me, I'll be able to pinpoint this moment right here as the thing that sealed my fate. Except nobody will ask me, because nobody talks to the loser with 720 cats. I'll just die alone, with my cats, and nobody will ever know it was all my dad's fault._

 _Maybe I'll at least die quickly, since I'm allergic to cats. Usually they just make my eyes itch, but I think 720 of them might be different. I sure hope so. I don't want to have spend too long as the super lonely guy with 720 cats and no friends and no girlfriend and really itchy eyes._

….


	3. Scott?

A/N: Thank you once again for the fabulous review, Matt! Haha, I'm so glad you liked his melodramatic brooding at the end! That part was definitely the most fun to write! And thank you so much for saying that I have a good feel for adolescence-I definitely didn't take that the wrong way at all! In fact, when I first got the idea for this story, I dug out my old teenage diaries and the notes my friends and I would pass back and fourth in class to try to make this all as authentic as possible! Of course, it turns out that I'd forgotten how horrible my friends and I really were at 15, so Adam and Julie aren't going to be _completely_ authentic, because if they were, they would sound like the worst people in the world. Also, this entire story would be nothing but an incoherent stream of expletives. But other than that, I tried to remain as true as possible to the realities of being an upper middle class teenager.

….

It had been four days since the fateful JV/Varsity game, and Adam had mostly resigned himself to the fact that Julie was probably now happily married to Scooter, and that he was going to be left to die alone, surrounded by cats. Granted, she had not mentioned marrying Scooter at any point during class or practice, but he assumed that was just because she was trying to be polite.

He was in his room working on homework sans Julie when he heard a car pull into the driveway. Looking out the window, he saw a beat up forest green Saab. The car wasn't terribly old, but it had clearly seen better days.

 _Scott?_

Scott was not supposed to be home. He was supposed to be back at his junior college in Colorado.

" _Please don't let this be anything too bad", he thought._

He knew that with Scott, there were no good possibilities. The last time he'd arrived home unexpectedly was after he'd gotten kicked out of his boarding school back in Connecticut for selling drugs. The boarding school for rich kids who'd already gotten kicked out all of the good schools. The boarding school that he was only at because he'd already managed to get kicked out of Eden Hall, Shattuck St. Mary's, Blake, and Breck.

He was as talented at getting expelled from school as Adam was at hockey. Possibly more so. Without a doubt, if there were a NHL of getting thrown out of private schools, Scott would be their Gretzky.

"Hey everyone, your favorite, charming son is home!" Scott shouted from the foyer, his loud, booming voice echoing through the house as he closed the door behind him.

 _Well, he's not in jail. That's probably a good sign. And maybe this will distract Dad from the St. Andrew's game. Maybe. Hopefully. Either that or it will put him in such a bad mood that nothing I do is right…though that wouldn't exactly be a change from the usual. So I guess maybe this is a win-win? Well, except for Scott. It probably won't be a win for him. I mean, I guess he could be here to tell us he won the Nobel Prize or something, but that doesn't seem too likely. Unless there's a Nobel Prize for drug dealing._

 _Nope, even if there was, he wouldn't win. Even I've listened to enough Tupac to know that you aren't supposed to get high on your own supply._

"Anyone here?" Scott yelled as he headed up the marble staircase.

"I'm in my room!"

"Little brother!" Scott announced, dramatically throwing his arms out as he walked into Adam's room, "How is my favorite family member?"

"Fine. Doing homework." Adam replied, not looking up from his textbook.

"What are you doing that for?"

 _Because I don't want to find out how many schools I can get kicked out of._

"Because I don't want to find out how many schools I can get kicked out of."

 _Dang it. I did not mean to say that out loud._

"Good for you, dorkwad" Scott laughed, ruffling a large hand through Adam's hair "I guess someone has to make mom and dad proud."

"Don't worry, there's no risk of that."

"So what's up?"

"Not much. What are you doing home?"

Scott plopped down on the neatly made bed, ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair, and proceeded to fill Adam in on the fact that he'd managed to blow all of his rent money partying in Aspen, smoking anything he could find, and convincing drunk women that was he was JFK Jr.

 _How does that even work? Is there enough alcohol on the planet to make Scott look like JFK Jr.? Because last I checked, JFK Jr. was definitely NOT a 21 year old with a Minnesota accent and no pants on. Maybe Scott was wearing pants? If so, he should really add that part to the story. Mom and Dad might be so proud they'd be willing to forget all about the rent money! Heck, they might throw a big party for all of their fancy socialite friends to come celebrate his achievement! Of course, if they did that, he'd probably backslide and start dancing around without pants on again, and we'd all be right back to square one…_

.

"Really?" Scott replied, laughing, "Scooter? Scooter Holland?"

"It's not funny!"

Adam had not wanted to talk about what happened at the game. He especially did not want to talk about Julie. But, somehow, when Scott asked how the JV/Varsity matchup went, it all came spilling out. Every last depressing, embarrassing detail.

"No, what's not funny is if Scooter Holland _actually_ stole your girl. That would not be funny at all. I'd have to change my last name and move to Siberia to get over the shame of my own brother losing a girl to Scooter Holland. But I'm pretty sure that's not going to happen, because this is Scooter fucking Holland we're talking about."

"He's a good looking guy. He's a senior. He's popular."

 _He doesn't sleep with a stuffed manatee._

"He has about as much game as your friend Larson."

"But Larson says he made out with a girl at science camp last summer. Even he's doing better than I am!"

 _Wow. Saying that out loud somehow makes it even sadder. I should probably just start collecting the cats now…_

"Oh good God. Fine, if Julie doesn't work out, we'll send you to fat camp next summer. You can be the fucking Hugh Hefner of girls who eat their feelings. You can probably pork every girl there, and then you can come back and brag to Larson about how every girl there got stuffed on your man meat. But first, lets aim a little higher. What's Julie's number?"

"Has anyone told you you're a horrible person?" He asked, throwing an eraser at Scott.

"Dad just got done telling me that like, an hour ago. But really, what's her number?"

"You are NOT calling her!"

"Either you tell me or I go through the caller ID until I figure it out."

"You can't call her! Don't you think I have enough problems without being the guy who's idiot brother calls girls for him?"

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way." Scott responded, reaching for the cordless phone on the nightstand. Adam tackled Scott and did his best to wrestle the phone away, but it was to no avail. Scott, being three inches taller and about 60 pounds heavier, was easily able to shake him off, leaving Adam in a heap on the floor as he dialed the number.

"Hello, Julie?"

"This is Connie, but Julie's right here. Hold on just a second."

"Hello?" Julie answered after a moment of hushed whispering between her and Connie.

"Hey, Julie, this is Adam." Scott replied, trying his best (and failing miserably) to sound like his brother. "How are you doing?"

In the background, she could hear Adam yelling "Shut up, you dumbass" at the mystery caller.

"I'm good, how are you?" She responded, playing along out of curiosity.

"I'm good, too. But umm, there's something I want to talk to you about."

Adam's protests in the background were getting louder and more desperate, and she couldn't help but laugh as he begged the person on the other end of the phone not to ruin his life.

"What is it?"

"Well, see, I really like you a lot. Will you be my girlfriend?"

"That depends. Will you put the real Adam on the phone?"

"Hi Julie." The real Adam answered a second later, thankful that Julie couldn't see how red his face was. "I'm really sorry about that. That was my brother, and he's really retarded."

"So was your retarded brother telling the truth?"

 _Oh my gosh, this can't be happening. There is no right answer here. Either I die of embarrassment, or I lie and offend her and still I die of embarrassment. Take me away right now, God. Just take me away right now. If ever there was a time for a random indoor lightening strike or spontaneous human combustion, this would be it!_

"Yeah. Yeah, he kind of was. But seriously, no pressure. My feelings won't be hurt either way."

"Well, then I'm glad he called, because I like you a lot, too. I would be thrilled to be your girlfriend."

 _Cancel that prayer for lightening!_

"Oh my God! Really?"

…


	4. Come on preppy, think romance here

Author's notes: Aww, thank you so much for the reviews, guest(s)! I'm soooo happy to hear that people are actually liking this story! And no shame in choosing to ignore Not What Could Have Been-even I think that story is kind of depressing, and I'm the one who wrote it! Also, nothing even remotely naive about believing he would have lived out his dreams of playing in the NHL-I totally believe he could have, and it actually drives me crazy when I read stories where he just like, randomly doesn't. Like, obviously I'm fine with it when there's a solid explanation, but I just can't deal with it when people write it where he simply wasn't good enough, or where he somehow decides he'd rather work for his dad or whatever! Because no, my inner twelve year old knows he was good enough to, and that he would have been so awesome, and that he would have never voluntarily chosen anything else! (Then again, I might just be naive, too;)

Matt, thank you so much for the review! Not going to lie-if I would have written this story first, I definitely would not have named the brother Scott. However, I wasn't thinking about Scooter at all in the first story when I named the older Banks brother, so two Scotts it is! I suppose that is realistic...I think we had about 12 Scotts in my high school, so it serves to reason that there would be more than one guy named Scott in this world, too! I was very torn on what use for Scooter's last name! I'd noticed that in the fandom, it usually was Vanderbilt, but when I Googled it, Google told me it was Holland, so I just went with Google. Hope you can forgive me for that one? I had noticed that in the fandom, the older Banks brother was always portrayed as the perfect one, and I thought about that, but then I was like "Wait, so this dysfunctional family has produced TWO freakishly perfect kids? Man, I guess Phil has this parenting thing figured out, after all!" If nothing else, I couldn't bear to give that jerk the satisfaction! Degenerate Scott felt to me like the more realistic outcome (Source: Growing up in a suburb filled with Phillip Banks-esque dads!). Plus, he's so much more fun to write this way! Anyway, I'm sooo glad you're still enjoying this story, and I'm always so stoked when I see that you've reviewed again! I hope you keep enjoying this story (and providing such thoughtful reviews)!

…...

His elation lasted until roughly third period math the next day. As the teacher went over the previous day's homework problems, it dawned on him that he was 35 minutes away from seeing Julie, and that he had no idea what a proper boyfriend was supposed to do in that situation.

 _Was I supposed to bring flowers or something? Do I wait for her by the door? Do I just wait until she sits down and start making out with her? I hope that's it, because I'd much rather do that than learn about covalent bonds!_

 _Nope. Haven't seen anyone do that. Not even Luis. I'm probably supposed to just talk to her or something. But what do you talk to a girlfriend about? I mean, I've talked to her a zillion times, but she wasn't my girlfriend then. I don't think you're supposed to talk to your girlfriend about hockey or what the homework assignment is. You're probably supposed to talk about romantic stuff. But I don't know how to talk about romantic stuff. I can't even think of any romantic topics._

 _Come on, think preppy. What do your parents talk to each other about when they're in a good mood?_

 _Yeah, never mind, I can't ask Julie if she wants to go car shopping. I mean, we aren't even 16 yet. Also, I'm pretty sure I have like, $4 in my wallet right now, so there's that._

 _I imagine that also rules out asking if she wants to go to Antigua with her friends…_

 _Damn it, what do guys with $4 and a pack of gum to their name do when they want to be romantic? Talk about how they're eventually going to have more than $4, and promise to take the girl car shopping then?_

 _Yeah, that doesn't sound very romantic._

 _Hmm…what would Scott talk about?_

 _Nope. Never mind. I'm pretty attached to those body parts. Pretty attached to all of my body parts, actually, but definitely those. Especially those. Not even trying to see what would happen to them if I suggested THAT._

 _Lets see here, what do they talk about in romantic movies? What romantic movies have I even seen? Die Hard? Nope, not romantic. Top Gun? Still not romantic. The Terminator? Not getting any warmer here, dude._

 _Oh, but I did read Romeo and Juliet for English last month! I know I've heard girls say that's romantic!_

" _Hey Julie, want to sneak off and go kill ourselves?"_

 _Yeah, never mind. I should probably just skip the whole romance thing._

 _._

"Hey Julie, you look beautiful today."

Adam wasn't sure if that was as romantic as asking if she wanted to sneak off for a joint suicide pact, but it seemed like the safer bet. Plus, he meant it. She really did look beautiful in her pigtails and University of Maine sweatshirt.

"You're dressed nicer than I am, silly!" She replied, smiling at his ubiquitous khakis and polo shirt, "If anything, I should be telling you that you look beautiful."

"Yeah, but I can't pull off pigtails nearly as well you can!"

…...

"Are you okay, Adam?" Julie whispered over to him in class two days later, looking slightly concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

"You…you're smiling. You're taking notes. You're not biting your nails into bloody nubs. You're…you're acting like a normal person!"

"Hey now!" He laughed, "I'm concerned that that's a cause for concern! What are you trying to say about me?"

"I mean, it's game day. You're never a normal person on game day!

Julie was right. For the first time in his life, Adam was somewhat calm about the upcoming game…not calm by normal standards, of course, but calm for him. Calm enough that he was not chewing his fingernails until they bled or vibrating the entire room with his incessant leg shaking. Calm enough to occasionally let his thoughts drift to other things.

Part of that, of course, was because he was back on JV. That took a lot of pressure off. Also, even by JV standards, he knew that St. Andrew's team that year was less than impressive. Mostly, though, he finally had something else to think about. He finally had Julie. His second biggest dream had actually come true, and that was enough to make him just a teensy bit less obsessive about his first biggest dream.

.

The game against St. Andrew's proved to be an easy win. Adam was able to score four goals that he made look effortless, and Eden Hall won 9-0.

However, in his mind, the better news was he had an hour-long bus ride back home to look forward to. He was well aware that, in the grand scheme of things, a school bus full of dudes was not really the ideal setting for romance. He was even more aware, though, that for two overachieving 15 year olds, that was about as good as it tended to get. After all, Christmas break was quickly approaching, and even without finals, it was not as though either of them tended to have an abundance of free time.

"Way to make us all look good out there, Miss Kitty." He said, wrapping an arm around Julie, pulling her in close to him. She smelled like coconut shampoo, and he couldn't help but fantasize about the thought of lying on some beach in the Bahamas with her.

"You weren't too shabby yourself." She turned her head to face him, bringing her lips towards his. This time there was no Mr. Banks to pull them apart at the last second, and his lips gently caressed hers. He now had one arm around her waist and another hand stroking the back of her silky, coconut scented hair, and she pulled herself even closer, until she was practically sitting in his lap.

"Wow Banksie" she replied after a moment, "if that's what's going to happen every time I compliment you, I'm going to have to compliment you way more often!"

"I could get behind that plan," he smiled, his blue eyes twinkling mischieviously as he leaned in closer again, once again bringing his lips to hers, "and I am also going to count that as another compliment."

Soon, what had started as a gentle kiss had turned into a passionate embrace, with Adam quickly making up for the two years he'd spent waiting to kiss her.

"Dang Guy, apparently you need to be taking lessons from Banksie back here!" Russ suddenly piped up when he looked back and noticed what was going on just a few seats behind him.

Julie promptly removed herself from Adam's lap and straightened her hair with her fingers as Adam nervously rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the floor in embarrassment.

"Come on now" Averman piped up, "I'm sure he just stopped breathing, and Julie was giving him mouth to mouth. You're a real hero there, Cat Lady."

"I knew you'd discover girls eventually, man." Charlie quietly added.

After a minute, the commotion died down, and once the rest of the team was focused on other things, Julie scooted back in closer to Adam, laying her head on his shoulder.

 _"Only he would smell like expensive cologne after a hockey game." She thought to herself, smiling._

He placed an arm around her, gently kissed the top of her head, and proceeded to rest his head against hers for the remainder of the ride home.

 _"So this is what heaven feels like." He thought, "Forget the pearly gates, this is way better."_

….


	5. Sorry About Your Birthday, Jesus

Author's note: Sorry if anyone's getting a notification about my edits to this chapter (I'm not sure if that results in a notification or not, but my apologies if it does)! I was re-reading the entire story to try to get a feel for my next chapter, and one paragraph in this chapter was just bugging me so much that I had to go back in and delete it! I know that's silly of me, but it was going to drive me crazy if I didn't do something!

…..

Several days later, Christmas break began. Julie went back to Maine, and Adam was left to spend the next eleven days alone with his family. Technically, the rest of the Minnesota Ducks were only five or six miles away, and Larson's house was just a ten minute walk, but none of that mattered. People were always busy at Christmas, which meant Adam had _lots_ of time with his family to look forward to.

.

Sure enough, the first Sunday of Christmas vacation, Adam's mom Bunny decided to break from her usual routine by actually getting out of bed, and subsequently insisting that everyone else also get up and get dressed for church. Adam was already awake by that time, so he was perfectly content to throw on a pair of khakis and a blazer if doing so would appease his mom. Scott, on the other hand, was a bit less willing.

"But Mom, it's not even Christmas Eve…" Adam could hear Scott sleepily groaning from the next room.

"It's the fourth Sunday of advent. Besides, in case you hadn't heard, they have services every Sunday!"

"Exactly, we can go next Sunday! I'm sure we can catch up on what we missed!" He pleaded, growing more annoyed by the second that his attempts at sleeping off his hangover were being so rudely interrupted.

"That is not how it works!"

"G—damnit"

"Scott Claibourne Monnier Banks!" Bunny shot back in a warning tone.

" _How did Mom and Dad come up with these names?" Adam found himself wondering, "Scott Claibourne Monnier Banks? Adam Wailes Talbott Banks? It's like they just wanted us to get beat up on the playground! Maybe this was their brilliant plan for keeping us out of gangs—I don't think the Bloods or Crips will let you join with a name like Adam Wailes Talbott Banks._

 _For that matter, where did they even come up with those names? Like, I know they're supposed to be family names or something, but we don't have any family members with those names. We have a bunch of Espositos. Some Giordanos. I'm pretty sure there's a Kowalski in there somewhere. But no Wailes or Talbott. I think they just went around raiding fancy people's family trees."_

"Out of bed. Now. You need some Jesus in your life!" She continued, losing all patience with her elder son.

"I need more of our landscaper in my life?"

"You know which one I'm talking about!"

Listening to Scott's protests, he couldn't help but think his brother owed him a thank you. After all, the Banks family had not always taken such a lax approach to church attendance.

 _I mean, they really shouldn't have trusted Brian McGill and I to be candle lighters. Especially not at the same time. I can't help it if I accidentally slipped and just happened to set his shirt on fire. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I swear._

 _He also probably couldn't help it that he just happened to turn around and set my hair on fire before putting out his own flaming shirt. Again, those things happen._

 _On second thought, never mind. It took my hair like, three months to grow back. So screw Brian. But I stand by the fact that his shirt was totally an accident._

….

"One hour! One fucking hour! That was all I asked! I asked you all to behave for one fucking hour so we could have a nice family Christmas. And this is what I get!" Bunny screamed as she slapped at Adam repeatedly, her oversized cocktail ring connecting solidly with this skull, causing him entirely more pain than what she'd intended.

The whole family stood in the kitchen, silent, as Bunny's anger slowly turned to tears.

"Every year, I work so hard to make sure we all have a nice Christmas, and this, this is what I get. Every single year you all fuck it up. I just don't understand why we can't be a normal, happy family for at least one or two days out of the year. Is that really too much to ask?" She slid down onto the tile floor, sobbing into her fur coat.

Their trip to church on Sunday had been uneventful. Pleasant, even. Once she managed to get Scott out of bed, everyone got dressed and out the door with plenty of time to spare. The church service was nice. The whole family looked and acted presentable. It was as though they were a normal, happy family.

Bunny had hoped the Christmas Eve vigil would go just as smoothly in a few days.

It didn't.

Phil and Scott had both started drinking around noon that day. By the time everyone started getting ready for church that night, there was not enough cologne and mouthwash in the world to keep them from smelling like whiskey, though they both certainly tried. The family made the 15-minute drive to church with the windows down, having decided that the threat of hypothermia paled next to the risk of asphyxiation from the now concentrated fumes of stale whiskey, mint mouthwash, cigarettes, Acqua Di Gio, and Drakkar Noir. By the time they arrived at St. Stephen's Episcopal, not only did they smell like high class hobos, but they all looked the part, the snow and arctic wind from the open car windows having done nothing to help anyone's hair.

No sooner had everyone made it through the dark parking lot and into the warm church sanctuary than they were greeted by the McGill family.

"Sup fuckwad" Brian greeted, sneering.

"Shut up, dickbreath."

Bunny and Mrs. McGill both shot them warning looks, and hurriedly dragged them to their respective pews, the sound of the mothers' stilettos clicking against the wood floor giving away their annoyance. Once seated a pew apart, the boys sat in stony silence, making obscene gestures at one another every time their mothers weren't looking.

Scott, meanwhile, was starting to feel the effects of his eleven hour whiskey binge, and promptly fell asleep before the service could begin.

"Scott!" Bunny hissed. She turned to shake his shoulder to wake him, and unintentionally sent her passed out son hurtling to the floor. He landed with a loud crash, and the entire congregation turned around just in time to see Adam and Brian communicating some very un-Christlike messages to one another with their fingers. Scott opened his eyes and stirred for a moment at the shock of falling to the floor before deciding that the floor was more comfortable than the pew, anyway, and promptly went back to sleep, loudly snoring as dozens of concerned WASPs looked on.

"Scott!" Phil kicked at his sleeping son, "We're leaving. Now."

Scott was finally roused from his slumber by Phil's kicking, and all four members of the Banks family gathered their coats and got up to leave, all red with humiliation except for Scott.

"Hey Phil, learn to control your kids!" a similarly intoxicated Dan McGill loudly piped up as the Banks family was getting ready to walk out the door.

"You got a problem, Dan? Want to come outside and talk to me about how raise my kids? Because I've got a little advice for you, too!" Phil responded, towering over the still seated Mr. McGill.

A few short moments later, Phil and Dan were rolling around on the icy concrete outside the church, the streetlights gently illuminating their portly figures as every punch struck yet another blow to the dignity of their respective families. After a few futile attempts at shouting some sense into their husbands, Bunny, Mrs. McGill, Scott, Adam, and Brian were all just left staring in resigned silence at the scene unfolding a few feet away. In the background, ironically, they could hear the good parishioners inside singing Silent Night.

" _Sorry we're so bad at celebrating your birthday, Jesus." Adam thought to himself as he lay in bed that night, his head still hurting from his mom's cocktail ring. "If it makes you feel any better, Mom and Dad never remember my birthday at all._

 _Though judging by today, that's probably a good thing…"_

…..

For the remainder of Christmas break, the Banks family returned to their normal habits. Nobody even bothered to fix Christmas dinner, everyone making due with frozen pizza and lunch meat, instead. Bunny went back to spending every day in bed, occasionally wandering down to the kitchen to grab another bottle of wine from the refrigerator. Scott was always either out with friends or sprawled across the couch in his underwear, a beer permanently attached to his hand. Adam threw himself back into hockey, spending every second he could at the rink, and the remainder of his time practicing in the family driveway. Phil would go to work, come home, and sit down in front of one of the other televisions with a glass of whiskey, occasionally taking time to either watch Adam practice or yell at Scott and Bunny for being Scott and Bunny.

Every night around 8, Adam would call Julie, and they would compare how things were going. Inevitably, he would hear her brothers happily horsing around in the background, and he'd find himself wishing he could be there in Maine with her.

….


	6. You Have No Idea How Much I Missed You

Author's notes: Thank you so much for the review, Fangirl! It makes me soooooo happy to hear that you like my take on Adam! I definitely agree that the movies should have given more depth to his character...though then again, I think that's part of what makes him so fun to write! There's so much that we don't know, and I LOVE reading how different writers all fill in the blanks a bit differently! And for real, Bombay was out of his mind not to use her as the starting goalie in D2. I mean, come on, I know he's used to Goldberg, but it's pretty obvious who the better goalie was!

…...

"Oh my gosh, I missed you so much!" Julie squealed, wrapping her arms around him, breathing in the smell of soap and cologne.

She had missed that. After nearly two weeks of being trapped in a house with brothers who perpetually smelled like gym socks, she had developed a whole new appreciation for how put together Adam always was.

 _Do Adam and my brothers even come from the same planet? Because Jeff and Shawn think dousing themselves with air freshener is the same thing as taking a shower. Heck, last week, Jeff realized we were out of air freshener and sprayed himself with Lemon Pledge before going on a date! His date was happy about it, too—she commented that he smelled better than usual!_

 _How does he do it? How do his parents do it? Are they all a bunch of sorcerers who can cast some kind of spell to make themselves perfect? Is there just some glitch in their DNA that lets them always have perfectly pressed clothes and hair that lays exactly the right way? I bet when his ancestors came over on the Mayflower, they were the really annoying pilgrims who had perfectly white little pilgrim hats and perfectly shined buckles on their pilgrim shoes, and who made all of the regular, stinky pilgrims look bad!_

"You have no idea how much I missed you, Jules!"

"Umm…probably still not as much as I missed you! After two weeks of boy stink, fart jokes, and listening to my mom nag me about how I need to wear dresses and do something with my hair, you're pretty much officially my favorite person ever!"

"Would I still be your favorite person if I reminded you that I am a boy, and I do sometimes stink?"

 _I'll leave out the part about how Larson and I definitely still make fart jokes. I don't think she really needs to know that._

"You never stink! It's kind of weird, actually!"

…

"So I'm really your first girlfriend?" Julie asked, laughing, as they cuddled together in her bed.

The first few days of the semester were famously light to allow for late arrivals after Christmas break, and Julie and Adam took full advantage of the extra free time that gave them. On this gray, freezing Monday after class, the two of them were spending the time that would have normally been spent on homework cuddled up in her room, ignoring the episode of The Simpsons that played in the background.

"Well, technically not my first first. There was that time with Linda in kindergarten. But yeah, other than that." Adam admitted, feeling a little embarrassed by his lack of romantic experience.

"Wait, Linda Linda? As in Charlie's Linda?" Julie's eyes grew wide with surprise.

"Hey now, before she was Charlie's Linda, she was my Linda. It got pretty steamy until I accidentally hit her in the head with a rock and the teacher made me sit by the fence for the rest of recess!"

"No wonder she hates jocks so much!"

"I know, right? I'm totally going to have to give Charlie the heads up that rock throwing is one of her turn offs!"

Julie pulled him in closer to kiss her, running her hands over the back of his plaid oxford shirt as she marveled at how toned his body felt, even under his clothes.

 _Good Lord, puberty fairy! What did you do?!_

"How on earth did you manage to stay single this long?" She asked as they finally quit making out long enough to come up for air.

 _Gosh, I don't know. Zero free time. Lack of social skills. An inability to so much as remember my name whenever I'm around girls. I think the real question here is "How am I not still single?", because honestly, this miracle is worthy of an Unsolved Mysteries episode!_

 _Man, I hope nobody actually submits my story to Unsolved Mysteries. I feel like that would be my luck. For them to do a whole segment about what a sad loser I am, and then have experts discuss exactly what sort of miraculous intervention allowed a girl to actually like me._

 _I bet they'd interview my dad, too. He'd really lay it on about how improbable this whole Julie thing is. I can just see him telling the entire country about how I wet the bed until I was eight, or how I cried and held onto Mr. Fluffy while the doctors shot my wrist up with cortisone and painkillers. They'd bring in actors to recreate all of my most loser-y moments and everything! Julie would probably see the episode and leave me, too, so then there'd be an even more embarrassing follow up episode to reassure the American public that I would still be left to die alone, after all._

"Uh, I don't know?" He shrugged nervously.

"Seriously, you're like, a Porsche away from being the preppy, popular villain in an 80's movie!"

"Hey now!"

"No, I mean that in a good way. You're the hot rich guy who's amazing at everything, and who everyone wishes they could be. Except unlike the guys in the movies, you're also really smart and really nice, which just makes the whole thing super unfair!"

 _I love you. So much._

"Well, I'm not half as amazing as you are, so if I'm unfair, I'm not even sure where that leaves you!" He responded, gently kissing her lips again.

…


	7. Punching Each Other In Hell

**Warning: The first section of this chapter includes a dead kid and implied domestic violence, so it's not exactly a fun, heartwarming read. Feel free to skip right over it.**

Author's notes: Matt! I'm so glad you hadn't disappeared! Your reviews always make my day! I don't think Julie had one specific 80's villain in mind, but there were a lot of preppy rich kid villains in movies back then. Pretty in Pink, Revenge of the Nerds, Making the Grade, Better Off Dead, etc. all contained some pretty great stuck up rich kids! And ugh, it makes me so sad that kids no longer have proper phone rituals like that! Texting is just not the same! Bahahaha, don't worry, I don't think Romeo and Juliet is actually foreshadowing much-Adam has some pretty dysfunctional moments ahead, but I can't exactly see our Julie/Juliet going quite that far off the deep end! It was mostly just the only love story Adam could think of.

…...

"I should just fucking kill you! I'd rather be in prison than deal with you one more fucking day, you worthless cunt!" Phil yelled at Bunny.

"Then how about you go ahead and fucking do it! Get us both out of our fucking misery!"

Scott and Adam sat in Adam's room, door locked, as they listened to the argument raging downstairs. For the last hour, Phil and Bunny had taken turns threatening to kill one another, their shouts occasionally punctuated by the sounds of breaking glass.

As was usually the case with such arguments, nobody was particularly sure what really caused the initial eruption. One moment the family was calmly sitting down to eat dinner, and the next, wine glasses were flying across the table. The best Scott and Adam could tell, the catalyst had been Phil complaining that the pot roast was dry, but they were both pretty sure that in normal families, dry pot roast was not _that_ pressing of a concern. Then again, they were pretty sure their parents weren't normal. At least, they certainly hoped they weren't.

"You know, they weren't always this bad." Scott mused as he lay sprawled across Adam's bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"Pretty sure it's been this way as long as I can remember." Adam sighed, tilting back in his desk chair, feet propped up on his desk as he threw a hockey puck from hand to hand.

"You're six years younger."

"So?"

"So it means I remember what they were like before."

 _Before what?_

 _Oh. Yeah. He's probably talking about our dead sister. Well, either that or the time I knocked down the Christmas tree. But probably our dead sister. I feel like in terms of things that happened when I was too young to remember, that was surely the bigger deal…at least I hope it was._

 _Though Mom does have a kind of unhealthy obsession with her Christmas ornaments._

The two sat in silence for a moment, both lost in thought.

Adam was four when Susan had died. He thought back, trying to remember the youngest Banks. He thought he vaguely remembered her blonde hair and a pink smocked dress, but he wasn't sure if those were actual memories, or just memories of old photos in the photo albums hidden away. Other than that, his only memory of her was the sound of his mother's screams as he stood in the kitchen, eating a cookie. He didn't remember her wet, lifeless body lying on the concrete by the backyard pool, the water from her lavender polka dotted dress and soaked hair creating a puddle around her. He didn't remember her blue lips, or the blank stare in her eyes. He didn't remember the frantic 911 call, or the funeral a few days later. He just remembered his mom's screams, and his chocolate chip cookie.

"What were they like before that?" He asked, tilting his head back as he tried to shake his sandy blonde bangs out of his eyes.

"They really weren't bad. Dad was always kind of prick, but mom was actually kind of cool. We were at least regular dysfunctional, not Very Special Episode dysfunctional."

Adam smiled to himself. He did remember his mother sitting in his bed every night, one arm around him as she quietly read him whichever Berenstain Bears book he'd picked out that evening. He'd almost forgotten that version of his mom. The version that smelled like raspberries, and told him he was her special little boy, and who designed a Quaker Oatmeal Man Halloween costume for him after a store clerk had told the devastated preschooler that no such a thing existed.

"We were arguing over a cookie." Scott added, to nobody in particular.

"Darn cookies."

"No shit." Scott sighed, running a hand through his thick dark hair, "That's why mom wasn't watching Susan. We were arguing over who got the last cookie, and mom was too busy dealing with us to notice that the back door was open."

"So basically we ruined everyone's lives over a snack?"

"Not Susan's." Scott gave a sad smirk, "She was able to get out of this hellhole."

" _I should not be laughing at this." Adam thought to himself as he laughed, "This is literally the least funny thing ever._

 _He does sort of have a point, though."_

"Lucky kid. Way to get all the breaks in this family, Susan!" Adam laughed quietly, burying his forehead in his hand.

 _Sorry God. Sorry Susan. I didn't mean to say that._

 _Even if it is kind of true._

…...

Several days later, they had a game against Shattuck St. Mary's.

Adam _really_ dreaded that game. For one, Shattuck St. Mary's was consistently the second best team in the state. Worse, this year their roster was packed with former Hawks. Garrett Brown, Trevor King, Ryan Foote, Chad Harjek, Zach Stickler, Stephen Stevens, Brian McGill—all Hawks. He actually got along pretty well with Garrett and Trevor—Trevor was a pretty consistent partner in crime whenever their parents spent too long droning on about mergers and acquisitions over long dinners at the country club, and Garrett had helped save him from dying of boredom during cotillion classes, but suffice to say, things with Brian were a bit less cordial.

 _Shit, one time he hit me in the face with a brick when we WERE best friends. I mean, granted, I suppose that is one of the inherent dangers of playing baseball with a brick, but still._

 _Also, why did that sound like a good idea in the first place?! I mean, I'm pretty sure that was Stephen's idea, but really, I should have known better than to listen to anyone who's parents were dumb enough to name their kid Stephen Stevens. There is a reason Larson had the good sense to sit that one out!_

 _Anyway, I'm going to die. Brian's going to kill me, and I'm going to die, and then Brian's dad is going to get mad at him for getting himself sent to prison, and then he's going to kill Brian for embarrassing the family, and then Brian and I are going to start fighting again in front of St. Peter, and then we're both going to get sent to hell, and this whole thing will literally never end. Brian and I are going to be doomed to spend the rest of eternity punching one another, and it will all be his stupid fault. Fuuuuck you, Brian._

 _Maybe I should just go ahead and spend English writing out my last will and testament._

 _Do I even have anything to bequeath?_

 _Dang it, I really don't. For all the crap people give me about being a rich kid, I'm pretty sure Averman has more money than I do. Heck, I'm pretty sure homeless people have more money than I do! I have a $10 a week allowance-that's not exactly conducive to building assets!_

 _Julie can have my Tag Heuer watch and the $12 of Christmas money I have leftover. I mean, I really wish I had something better to leave her, but other than some polo shirts and the Victoria's Secret catalogs under my bed, that's pretty much all I've got, and I don't think she wants the Victoria's Secret catalogs._

 _I think I'll have Scott divide those up between Larson and Charlie. Quietly. Larson can have the polo shirts, too._

 _What should I do with Mr. Fluffy? Like, I want him to go to a good home, and I feel like Julie would be a really good home for him, but come on. I'm not even trying to admit that I'm that big of a loser. Granted, it's not exactly like I'll have to worry about her breaking up with me at that point, but still. I'd just assume keep what little dignity I have left._

 _Also, will anyone want my pet rock? He probably deserves a good home, too._

 _Hmmm…I'll give him to Larson. If he gets my polo shirts and half of the Victoria's Secret catalogs, the least he can do is take care of a rock for me. It's not like it has to be taken out for walks or anything. Though it'd be nice if he did. I mean, I always try to. After all, rocks deserve to be able to get out and do things, too._

 _._

"So, are you still alive?" Julie asked a now very bruised Adam after the game, her green eyes looking up at him, filled with concern.

.

The will he'd considered writing during English class hadn't proven to be necessary, but that did not mean the game had been uneventful. Brian had knocked him down hard during the first faceoff, and things did not let off from there. By the end of the first period, even with a less than observant referee, they had both landed themselves in the penalty box, which was a rarity for Adam. The rivalry only grew more bitter in the second period, when Brian checked Adam against the boards, and while he had him pinned there, smashed his stick into Adam's already hurting wrist. The cheap shots from both sides continued into the beginning of the third period, when Brian finally lost what little self control he had, and swung his stick as hard as he could into Adam's stomach. Brian was thrown out of the game, and Adam was left lying on the ice, writhing in pain. Brian's last words as he was escorted off the ice by the referee were "Fuck you, you diving bitch."

"Holy shit man, are you okay?" Garrett Brown asked, staring down worriedly as Charlie and Guy helped Adam off the ice.

"Get lost, asshole." Charlie snapped back at Garrett.

"The hell, dipshit? I'm not allowed to see if my own fucking friend is okay?"

"Friend? Friend? Since when is he friends with stupid pricks like you?"

"Shut up, trailer park"

And with that, Guy was left to help Adam, while Charlie and Garrett continued yelling and shoving at one another for no particular reason. Guy and Adam exchanged knowing looks as they both sighed in frustration.

Guy finally spoke up. "At least when Connie's on the rag, she still has great boobs. This is just sad."

Adam started to laugh, but instantly regretted it when doing so sent another wave of pain shooting through his body. "Sorry man" Guy added, noticing the grimace of pain across his friend's face.

"No, I'm fine. But someone really does need to get Charlie a Wonder Bra for his birthday."

.

"Uh, I'm pretty sure I am!" He replied, grinning as he pulled his girlfriend into a tight hug and softly kissed the top of her forehead.

"Seriously, you had me worried sick! When you didn't come back out for the rest of the game, I was genuinely starting to think you might be dead!"

"And how do you know I'm not?" He asked with a mischievious twinkle is his eye, "How do you know you're not talking to Zombie Adam?!"

"Oh no!" She replied in mock horror, her mouth gasping open for full effect, "Not Zombie Adam!"

He slowly chased her around for a moment, arms out in front of him like a Zombie, until he finally "caught" her and pulled her in for a real kiss.

"You're my favorite zombie ever." Julie whispered softly, pulling his waist closer towards her as she buried her face into his dark grey cashmere sweater, overcome with relief that her favorite person in the world was going to be okay. Feeling her eyes well with tears, she kept her face buried in his chest so that he couldn't see how close she was to crying as she added "Please don't ever scare me like that again."

.

After saying goodbye to Julie for the night, he slowly gathered his things to head out to his mom's car, carefully avoiding his swollen wrist and the painful bruise that had formed across his stomach. As he gingerly made his way out to the waiting Volvo, he could hear a familiar voice yelling. Turning around to look, he could see that at the other end of the parking lot, Dan McGill had Brian pinned firmly against the side of a Tahoe, one hand around his son's throat. He couldn't make out every word he was saying, but the words "fucking embarrassment" and "I'll show you sorry" were unmistakable.

… _.._


	8. The Best View In The City

… _.._

"I'm pretty sure this leads to China!" Julie laughed, leaning into Adam's arm as they walked.

" _Geez she's gorgeous!" He thought, admiring how she looked in her charcoal peacoat and fuzzy, pale blue scarf, her cheeks still a rosy pink from the blustery wind outside._

 _I have no idea what I ever did to deserve this, but I think I might be the luckiest guy in the world._

"No, it definitely goes to Australia!" He jokingly corrected, taking hold of her warm hand as she leaned into him.

It was the day after the Shattuck St. Mary's game, and Coach Orion had cancelled practices to let everyone rest. The weather outside was bitterly cold despite the sun, and the combination of being too young to drive and having no money further limited everyone's entertainment options. Still, determined to do something fun with their rare free Saturday, Adam and Julie had decided to explore the skyway habitrails that connected the buildings downtown, on a mission to figure out exactly where they all lead.

"Come on now, obviously they can't go to Australia. If they did, we'd have kangaroos everywhere! You don't see kangaroos hopping through the streets and knocking over shelves at the grocery store, do you?" Julie argued, doing her best to feign seriousness.

"Well, I don't have a pet panda, either, so I think that rules out China!" Adam pointed out, smiling.

"Pandas are lazy! There's no way they'd crawl all this way. But kangaroos? I could totally see that! Besides, I'm not convinced that you don't secretly have a pet panda. You're probably just keeping quiet about it so you don't have to share your panda with Charlie!"

"Okay, you got me! General Tso is the best panda friend ever!"

"I knew it!" She squealed, playfully hitting his shoulder. "Will you at least share him with me?"

"I'd do anything for you!"

"Even share your pet panda?"

"General Tso is all yours! Just make sure to keep him away from bamboo furniture…he totally demolished the sun room last month!"

.

After a little over an hour of walking the skyways, discussing imaginary pandas and other similarly pressing topics, the two were left to concede that the skyways did not, in fact, connect Minneapolis to China or Australia, but rather simply led to more boring office buildings. Not to be deterred, though, Adam did have a second idea up his sleeve.

"Umm, tell me again why we're in the elevator of a random office building?" Julie asked, looking over at her boyfriend questioningly.

"You'll just have to see." He smiled, hoping deep down that she wouldn't think his surprise was hopelessly lame.

 _Crap. She's probably going to think I'm an idiot. I really should have just stuck with dinner and a movie like a normal person. Then again, Mom and Dad didn't really give me money for that, anyway, so I guess this will have to do!_

After a minute, the elevator finally made it's way up to the 52nd floor, and the mirrored elevator doors opened up to a very expensive looking reception area that sat empty, flanked on all sides by locked executive offices. Taking her by the hand, Adam led her to the door on the left.

"Umm…no offense sweetheart, but since when do you have your own downtown office?" Julie asked, a hint of nervousness in her voice as Adam entered the passcode to the locked door in front of them.

"Well, technically it's not exactly mine," he blushed, "but it is my dad's, and that's close enough."

"What?!" She practically shrieked. "No! No way! Your dad would kill you, and you've already scared me quite enough in the past 24 hours!" She added, glancing down at his bandaged wrist for emphasis. He had done his best to hide the injured arm in his dark green North Face coat, but clearly, it had been to no avail.

"Hey now" he laughed, "I can't help that you worry too much! Besides, I come up here all the time. He'll never know."

"I do not worry too much! You make me worry too much! That is a very important distinction!"

Before the discussion could continue any further, the alarm system beeped, indicating that it had successfully been disarmed. Adam reached to open the heavy mahogany door, revealing the inside of his father's extravagant high-rise office.

"Wow" Julie quietly whispered, standing in shock at the sight before her.

There were massive leather chairs and Persian rugs, of course, along with a very ornate mahogany desk. There was a grand fireplace on one wall, flanked by dark wainscoting. The walls featured the same types of oil paintings that filled the Banks' home, and a handful of tasteful pewter frames on Phil's desk featured pictures of the family in their happier moments. By far, though, the most noteworthy thing was the view—the wall opposite the door was made entirely of glass. The golden sun of late afternoon was casting a warm glow over everything, and Julie couldn't help but admire the view of the entire city that lay right in front of her.

"Okay" She quietly conceded after a moment, "I guess I see why you're willing to risk being murdered by your dad."

"Yeah" Adam gently laughed and then paused thoughtfully "I love coming up here when I know he won't be around. It's definitely the best place in the city to sit and think."

"I mean, just look" he added, gesturing out the window, "it reminds you that there's a whole world out there. A whole world beyond prep school hockey and geometry tests and parents and stupid Edina gossip."

Julie could sense the slight hint of sadness in his voice, and it slowly dawned on her that in their two years of friendship, and the thousands of conversations they'd shared, that this was the most he'd ever opened up to her about anything.

.

After a few minutes, Adam turned on the gas fireplace, and the two silently curled up together on a large leather sofa to watch as the sun slowly began to set over the city, painting the sky in brilliant shades of orange and violet.

"Truth or dare?" Julie asked after a bit, finally breaking their comfortable silence.

"How can you play truth or dare with two people? I mean, what fun is it to dare someone if you're going to be the only person to see it?"

"Fine. I guess we'll just have to pick truth every time." Julie replied thoughtfully, smiling as she gazed into his deep blue eyes.

"Okay" He quietly agreed after a moment "That sounds fair enough."

"So truth Adam Banks, what's your biggest fear in life?"

"Everything." He replied in complete seriousness. "And yours, oh great one?"

"Never doing anything important."

"Yeah, that really scares me, too." He nodded, "My turn. Truth Julie Gaffney, what was the best day of your life?"

"Winning the Goodwill Games. You?"

"Honestly?" He blushed, "The day you said you'd be my girlfriend."

"What?!" She gasped laughing, "No way, Mr. My Life Completely Revolves Around Hockey. I know you better than that! There is no way me being your girlfriend tops any of your big wins!"

"Of course it does. With any luck, I'll have plenty of winning games left to look forward to in the future. But you? That's a once in a lifetime thing." He smiled, squeezing his arm around her as he gently kissed the top of her head.

"Have I told you how amazing you are?" Julie replied quietly, pulling herself in even closer.

"So then, what was the worst day of your life?" She asked after a moment.

 _Nope. Nope nope nope nope nope nope nope._

 _There are some things in life a person just doesn't talk about. Ever._

"I haven't really had one." He lied, "I'm an upper middle class white kid. I haven't been around long enough to have anything too bad happen."

"Point taken." She agreed, knowing from the far away look in his eyes that he was being anything but honest, but also knowing better than to press the issue.

"Okay, my turn. What do you want to do with your life? You know, when we grow up."

"Hmm…" She paused, "I don't know. I know I want to go to a good college—my uncle went to Dartmouth, so I've been dreaming of going there ever since I was a kid. But beyond that, I'm not sure. Probably be a doctor or something."

"You'd be a pretty awesome doctor." He smiled, gently brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes.

"Thanks." She smiled, "And how about you? I mean, obviously you want to go to the NHL, but I mean if for some reason you couldn't do that. What then?"

"I don't know." He laughed nervously, "Watch the grass grow. Time how long it takes paint to dry. Lay down on the freeway and wait to die?"

"What?!" She playfully slapped his chest, "Not to sound like Charlie here, but I think you might be taking hockey a _little_ too seriously!"

"Okay", He smiled, pausing thoughtfully, "So the last part was probably a slight exaggeration, but I mean, that's kind of all I have. I'm not smart. I'm not good with people. I'm not like, super great looking or anything. Hockey is the only thing I'm good at—outside of it, I'm just kind of a weird loser."

"Adam Christopher Banks—"

"That's not even my middle name!"

"Whatever, I don't know your middle name, so I had to make one up!" She replied laughing, "Adam Whatever Your Middle Name Is Banks, you are in no way, shape, or form—"

"Wailes Talbott"

"What?"

"Those are my middle names!"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah"

"Geez you're fancy! You just had to outdo all of us commoners with our regular, boring names, didn't you?"

"Hey now! Blame my mom—I'm pretty sure she was the one who thought going all out in the middle name department would somehow change the fact we live in Minnesota and consider the Chinese buffet a cultural experience!"

"Point taken. I kind of like it, actually. But anyway, back to what I was saying—you are definitely not a weird loser! Awkward, yes, but only in the very best way—it's totally part of your charm. And last I checked, you were definitely very good looking, and you always make perfect grades. So I'm pretty sure you have quite a bit going for you besides hockey."

"Thanks. I mean, I guess I'm not like a hideous swamp beast or anything, but that's not exactly aiming high. I'm pale and I have a big nose and I'm just all-around weird. And the only reason I make good grades is because I spend a ridiculous amount of time studying. I'm not smart, I just try really hard, and that only gets a person so far in life." He paused for a moment and sighed before adding "Like, I'm sure if I work really hard, I could become an accountant or something one day, but I'm never going to be the guy who cures cancer or anything. Hockey is my one chance to be someone important."

 _I love your big nose and all of your weirdness._

"I understand." Julie agreed, leaning her head against his shoulder, "Just remember that I think you're pretty important, regardless."

…..


	9. I'd Love to Play Doctor

Author's note: This chapter is totally just short, fluffy filler. I am very well aware of that! However, (a) I have been dealing with a bit of writer's block, and (b) I felt like a little filler fluff might be a good thing, considering that the last couple of chapters have been relatively deep, and the coming chapters are about to get kind of deep again.

Also, if you're reading this, feel free to leave a comment! I LOVE comments! Tell me what you do like/what you don't like/what you plan to eat for dinner tonight/what superpowers you wish you had! I mean, seriously, comment about anything you want! You could literally comment about what your dog is doing right now, and I WOULD read it, and I WOULD respond to it in my next author's note, because frankly, it's not like I have anything else terribly pressing going on! (I know, I know, I shouldn't admit that. I should pretend that I'm super busy planning rocket launches or something. But come on, I'm writing fanfiction here. I think it's safe to assume that I have at least a _little_ spare time on my hands between rocket launches and discovering cures for ebola!)

...…

"What if like, ions and neutrons aren't even real? What if it's all just some big lie that someone made up to keep teenagers busy?" Adam mused, staring down at his textbook.

The two of them had been sitting at the breakfast nook in his parents' kitchen for the past hour preparing for an upcoming chemistry test, and the round table in front of them was beginning to look like it had been hit by a tornado of school supplies. Somehow, the notebooks and highlighters had all mysteriously multiplied over the last forty-five minutes, and a precarious tower of flash cards appeared to be at risk of toppling over and crushing Adam if anyone so much as breathed the wrong way. To top it off, he had now run his hands through his hair in frustration so many times that the normally immaculate preppy was beginning to look like an unhinged Albert Einstein, his blonde bangs sticking out in every possible direction.

"How do you even come up with these ideas?" Julie laughed, reaching over to fix the worst of his hair.

"How do you not? I mean, have you ever seen an ion? Because I sure haven't! This is probably like the time we learned about the moon phases in elementary school."

"I'm pretty certain the moon phases weren't made up…"

"Okay, those probably weren't actually made up, but I feel like giving them names was! Like, does anyone really need to know whether the moon is waxing or waning? DOES anyone even know whether the moon is waxing or waning? Do fifth grade teachers even know, or do they just make it up to try to sound smart?"

"You know, I think you might be weirder than Averman."

He blushed a tad, smiling.

"You won't be saying that when I win a Nobel Prize for debunking the myth of moon phases."

.

After another half hour, Julie decided it was time to declare to a study break, if only in the interest of preserving Adam's hair.

"So" she smiled mischievously, "how about we go upstairs and take a break? Maybe work on a different kind of chemistry?"

"I don't know, I think I'm kind of burnt out on chemistry." Adam sighed obliviously, not immediately realizing what she meant.

"Oh, you meant the fun kind! Yeah, yeah we should definitely do that!" He responded, blushing profusely as he leapt up and practically sprinted towards the stairs.

.

"Oww" He muttered a minute later, sprawled out across the stairs, rubbing his now scraped knee. In all of his excitement, his off the ice awkwardness had kicked in, and he'd managed to fall up the stairs with Julie right behind him, watching the whole thing unfold.

"Are you okay?" Julie asked, standing over him, trying unsuccessfully to control her laughter.

 _No, I'm pretty sure my ego is broken. Remind me again how I can be so good at everything on the ice, and so absurdly bad at everything off of it?_

 _Also, why did my parents have to pick a house with marble stairs? Were they trying to kill me? Because seriously, this is like, the 9,000_ _th_ _time this has happened. I'm starting to think this is their way of getting out of paying for college—like, "Hey, you know how we could save some money? We could design our house to be a total death trap! Then we'll get lots of awesome sympathy casseroles from the neighbors when the inevitable happens AND we won't have to pay for college! It'll be a win-win!"_

 _It's cool, Mom and Dad. There are a lot of things I'd do for Mrs. Hagen's tater tot casserole, too._

 _Though I like to think I'd draw the line at purposely killing my own son for it. Especially when said son is just wanting a chance to make out with his girlfriend. I mean, talk about cutting a guy down in the prime of his life!_

"I don't know." He smiled, still as pink as ever "I think I might need some help from a naughty nurse!"

 _Did I really just say that out loud?_

 _God, I'm totally going to die a virgin._

"Hey now!" Julie replied, doing her best to feign anger, "I am NOT a naughty nurse!"

"However," She added a second later, smiling as she offered her hand to help him up, "I would love to play doctor!"

…..


	10. Oh To Have Been Raised By Wolves, Part I

Author's note: This chapter is very much a continuation of the previous chapter. I honestly probably should have gone ahead and combined them into one chapter, but I didn't really want to go back in to change it, so two chapters it is! Plus, I was afraid it would be confusing for anyone who had already read the previous chapter, and I didn't want anyone to be like "Wait, didn't I just read this a couple days ago?"

.

Content warning: The last two paragraphs may be disturbing to some readers.

…..

 _I wonder if it's too soon to tell her I love her. Because I do. I really, REALLY do. Not just in the "I'm a stupid 15 year old boy who doesn't know the difference between love and wanting to touch her boobs" way, but in the "I kind of think I want to spend the rest of my life with her" way. Like, I know that sounds completely ridiculous, but it's true. I love her so, so much! I'd give anything to never have to be apart from her, for as long as I live!_

 _Geez preppy, quit being such a weirdo. There is a time and place to think about marriage, and this isn't it! Go back to enjoying boobs, like a normal, well-adjusted guy who's not trying to get married before junior prom!_

 _Also, quit thinking to yourself in the third person. That's kind of weird._

The two were lying atop the plaid comforter on his spacious king sized bed, her soft lips passionately embracing his. A moment earlier, realizing that they were never going to make it to second base if he was left to his own devices, Julie had carefully taken hold of his hand and placed it under her shirt, hoping he would get the hint. Her plan had worked, and his slightly callused hands were now gently caressing the smooth skin of her stomach, slowly making their way north.

 _Oh my God! This is even better than I imagined!_

Carefully, with his other hand, he reached around to unhook her bra, his lips never leaving hers.

 _Every inch of her is so perfect. Everything about her is so perfe—_

 _Okay, getting a little too excited here. Maybe thinking about how perfect she is isn't really the best idea right now. Lets try to focus on something a bit less sexy._

 _Ah yes, Larson wanting to know if I will come play Dungeons and Dragons with him tomorrow night! Now there is an unsexy thought! No Larson, I will not! You know why? Because I am a man now. A man who has touched boobs!_

 _So this is what they feel like! I get it Scott! I get it Charlie! I am definitely, 100% understanding what all the fuss is about! This is amazing! This is so much better than hockey! This is better than hockey and chicken strips and Ninja Turtles and the Victoria's Secret catalog all rolled into one!_

 _Okay, concentrate. Lets think about things that are not this._

 _Boats. Boats are awesome. I really like boats. I really wish I had a boat. If I had a boat, we could…._

 _Never mind. Baseball. Now that is a terrible, horrible, good for nothing, definitely not sexy sport. It's like golf, but without the pretty scenery and golf carts. Plus, you can't play baseball in khakis, and khakis are awesome. They're just so comfortable. It's practically like wearing sweatpants, except people don't think you're a giant lose—_

"Oh little brother!" Scott called out loudly as he made his way up the steps, "Do you have a girl in there?"

 _Oh no! Oh God no! This can't end well…_

"Are you having sex in there?" He shouted loudly enough for most of the upper Midwest to hear.

 _NOOOOOO!_

"If so, remember, don't be silly, wrap your willy! Always use protection for your erection! Before you attack her, wrap your whack—"

Adam quickly removed his hands from under Julie's shirt, and proceeded to bury his face in the nearest pillow, too scared to look up and face what was surely now his ex-girlfriend's reaction.

Julie, on the other hand, was equal parts amused and embarrassed…at least, until she heard a second voice.

"Scott?" Their mother groggily interrupted, woken from her nap by her older son's very loud safe sex speech, "What's going on?"

Julie quickly sat up, fumbling to try to re-clasp her bra as Adam continued to lie helplessly on the bed, his face buried so deeply in a stack of pillows that only the very back of his hair was still visible.

"Adam, sweetie" Bunny slurred, making her way towards his bedroom door, still wearing the same blue and white striped satin pajamas she'd had on for the past three days, "Are you having sex in there?"

 _No. No I'm not. I'm just lying here, waiting for the sweet embrace of death, since clearly, that is the only embrace I'm ever going to feel again. Come on death, hurry up and pretend I'm the token black friend in a horror movie!_

Just as Julie began to worry that Adam was going to suffocate in his pile of pillows, the door opened, and there stood Scott and Bunny, in all of their dysfunctional glory. Bunny's pajama top was not only stained from what appeared to be red wine, but had also been unevenly buttoned, leaving a rather significant portion of her left breast exposed. After four or five days without a shower, her sometimes platinum locks were giving new meaning to the term dirty blonde, and thanks to extensive teasing and hairspray four days earlier, said blonde hair now resembled a bird's nest that had been damaged by a hurricane.

On Scott's end, despite it being nearly seven in the evening, he had just recently woken up from a night of hard partying, and was still wearing the khakis and polo he'd had on the night before. Unfortunately, after twenty four hours, his khakis and polo were now a bit worse for the wear, complete with a tear in the thigh of his khakis that left his Spiderman boxers hanging out, and a large vomit stain covering the front of his previously white shirt. He had also, at some point, acquired a sombrero, which he was still proudly wearing.

At the sight of disheveled duo, all Julie could do was stare, hoping that her face didn't fully betray her level of shock at the situation.

 _THAT'S his family?! The guy who plays hockey in perfectly ironed polo shirts is related to those two?!_

 _I'm never complaining about Jeff and his air freshener cologne again…_

 _._

After a few mortifying minutes, much to Adam's embarrassment, it was decided that it would be just lovely for everyone to enjoy a little time together. And so, after Bunny and Scott changed into more appropriate clothing, the entire family (sans Phil, who was still at work) sat down together on the upstairs sectional to watch TV. Together. As a family. With Julie.

" _You know who really got a sweet deal?" Adam thought to himself, "That kid on the cover of Weekly World News who'd supposedly been raised by wolves! I bet if he brought a girl back to the wolf den, his mother and brother wolf would leave her alone. Because they'd be too busy doing wolf stuff. And even if they were actually really stupid, embarrassing wolves, it wouldn't matter, because the girl wouldn't know it! There is no way she's going to know enough about wolves to judge their relative coolness—to her, they're all going to be cool. Because they're freakin' wolves!"_

Oblivious to his ongoing mental dialogue about the advantages of being raised by wolves, Julie reached over to hold Adam's hand, her fingers entwining with his as she gently traced circles with her thumb along the side of his hand. Scooting over closer, she rested her head against the side of his shoulder, taking in the subtle scent of his cologne and the safe, solid feeling of his arms as Full House blared in the background.

 _I think I love love him._

 _._

"What in the fuck? Why didn't anyone clean this up?" An angry voice shouted from the foyer, suddenly interrupting the peace.

Phil.

"I'm serious." He continued as he stomped up the stairs, "You people have been here all fucking day long. Has it dawned on anyone to clean up after the damn dog, or are you just all just too busy watching TV and guzzling boxed wine to get anything done around here?"

 _"Freakin' wolf kid. He had no idea how good he had it!" Adam thought, trying not to let it show how embarrassed he was._

Bunny took another very large drink of wine, while Julie looked over at Adam with concern, her eyes clearly asking "Is this normal for your family?"

 _Yes. Yes it is. Hence the reason that I wish I could have been raised by wolves._

 _Man, a wolf family would be so awesome! Like, you could all cuddle together in the den, and everyone would be so furry and soft and amazing, but it would also be really manly to get to talk about how you live with a bunch of wolves! Talk about the best of both worlds!_

 _Plus, I bet that would sound really great on a college application! Take that, inspiring homeless kid who was raised by people, Wolfie can do you one better!_

"Does anyone plan on answering me, or is whatever junk you're watching just that fucking captivating?" Phil asked, the anger in his voice rising with every word, "Have you all forgotten who pays for the cable? Who pays for this entire house? I'll give you all a hint—it's the same person who pays for the wine and the lawyers and the hockey camps!"

"Fine, I'm sorry dad, I'll go clean it up. I hadn't been downstairs in a couple of hours, so I didn't know there was a mess down there." Adam finally volunteered, hoping to diffuse the situation. By this time, his embarrassment had grown to the point that his ears were starting to match his pink button down, and the thought of being raised by wolves was sounding more enticing by the second.

"And what have you been doing up here for so long?" Phil asked, glaring as he stood over his son, a glass of scotch in hand. "Taking lessons on how to be worthless from those two? Trying to get into that girl's pants?"

 _Is it too late to run off and try to find a nice family of wolves?_

"Dad. Please, I have company. Can we talk about this later?" Adam asked, trying to keep his cracking voice calm as he walked towards the stairs to go clean whatever mess had set his father off.

"You don't tell me when we do and don't talk about things, son! This is my house, so I decide when we talk about things. You understand?"

Adam glanced over at Julie, and inwardly cringed when he saw how nervous she looked. His father upsetting him was one thing—he was used to that. Seeing Julie upset, though, was a completely different matter.

"No, no actually I don't understand! Because between school and hockey, I'm pretty sure I work just as hard as you do, and I don't go around acting like a giant asshole all the time! What is it that makes you think you're so special that you can just order everyone around, with absolutely no concern for anyone else?" Adam shouted back, his anger no longer hidden.

Without thinking, Phil did something he'd done a thousand times before, and he gave his son a rough shove. The force was great enough to send Adam stumbling backwards, off-balance, which again, was something that had happened a thousand times before. This time, however, something different happened—instead of stumbling backwards into a wall, or falling onto the even ground below, when Adam stepped back, there was no floor to catch his step, and he flew backwards, his body careening helplessly down the stairs.

Suddenly, time seemed to slow down, and Julie, Scott, Bunny, and Phil all watched in horror as his body collided with the marble stairs, his skull striking the edge of a step with a sickening thud, bouncing back up several inches, and then striking again. Over the course of a few seconds, what had been an argument just like a thousand others before ended with Adam's body lying contorted in the middle of the staircase, not moving. As Julie rushed towards the top of the staircase, she felt her stomach drop as she got a better look—his arm right was lying beside him at an unnatural angle, the middle of his right forearm bent at a horrific 90 degree angle. A large pool of blood had already formed at the back of his head, crimson droplets slowly trickling down the unforgiving white stone steps below. The worst part, though, was that there was no movement. No sound. Just him lying there, lifelessly.

…..


	11. Oh To Have Been Raised By Wolves,Part II

Author's Note: My apologies if Julie seems a little sappy in this chapter. I definitely don't consider her a sappy character at all, but considering the circumstances (and the fact that she's a 15 year old girl), I figured it would be pretty weird for things to not get emotional at all. But yeah, I'm going to come right out and admit that I struggled a tad with characterization this chapter!

...….

 _Oh my God._

For a second, Julie could do nothing but stand there at the top of the steps, too shocked and horrified to move. All she could do was stare blankly at the mangled body below, unable to process what had just happened.

 _Oh my God._

It didn't seem possible. It had been such a nice day. Such a normal day. Just a couple of minutes earlier, she had been sitting on the couch, holding hands with him. Thinking about how perfect he smelled. Thinking about how his pale pink shirt brought out the gorgeous blue in his eyes. Thinking about the fact that they never had finished studying for their chemistry test.

It didn't seem right that things could turn so horrible so quickly. That the world could just suddenly be ripped apart with no warning.

"I fucking hate you!"

Just as Julie heard those words, there was a loud crash behind her. Turning around to see what was going on, she saw that Scott had his father pinned to the ground, his fists connecting with the older man's face over and over again.

"I fucking hate you so fucking much!" He cried out, the anger in his voice slowly giving over to sadness as tears began to stream down his cheeks. "You ruined all of our lives. You ruined my childhood. You ruined his childhood. You ruined our lives. How could you do that? How could you ruin all of our fucking lives? You fucking bastard." Every sentence was punctuated with another blow, his pounding fists creating a steady rhythm against his father's face. For a moment, Julie stayed frozen in place, entranced by the raw display of anger and despair playing out in front of her. Growing up with three testosterone laden brothers, she'd seen plenty of fights in her life, but nothing like that. Never that combination of hatred and sadness.

Finally, Julie managed to snap out of her shock, and she raced down the stairs towards Adam, terrified of what she would find.

 _Please let him be okay. Please God. Pretty please._

As she got closer, she noticed that his chest was moving up and down. He was still breathing. He was still alive.

"Adam?" She quietly pleaded, her fingers gently brushing his smooth, pale cheek "Adam, you've got to be okay, alright? You've got to be okay."

There was no response. For a moment she just sat there, crying as she gently stroked his hair.

 _Just let him be okay. Please let him be okay. He has to be okay._

Finally, after a minute or two, the logical part of her brain began to take over. She realized that nobody had called 911, and so she raced back upstairs to grab the cordless phone she remembered seeing on his nightstand. As she dialed the number, she could hear Scott wailing on Phil in the background, and looking over, she saw that Bunny was still sitting on the couch, gulping down her wine. She hadn't moved an inch the entire time. As she took it all in, an overwhelming sense of frustration rushed over her, and she found a piece of herself relating to Scott, still on the ground, his fists still pounding away at his father.

 _Do any of you assholes even care about Adam? You know, the really, really nice person who's lying unconscious at the bottom of the stairs right now? The one who you've apparently all just left to die?_

 _I can't believe I ever complained about my family to him. He must have thought I was such an idiot whenever I'd bitch about my mom's meatloaf or my brothers changing the channel when I was watching Party of Five._

 _Sorry Mom and Dad. I definitely did not mean it when I said you were the worst parents in the world for not letting me go to Justin's party over Christmas break._

.

Once the ambulance was called, Julie headed back towards the stairs, rejoining Adam as he lay there lifelessly, the only movement coming from the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.

For what felt like hours, she sat there next to him, sobbing, quietly begging God for him to be okay. Her eyes were so swollen with tears that everything around her was beginning to look like a horrible kaleidoscope, blood and marble and his pink shirt replacing the glitter and sequins that normally give a kaleidoscope its color.

.

"Are you alright?"

Julie felt a large hand on her shoulder and jumped slightly, startled by the interruption. She looked over to see where the hand had come from, and through the haze of her tears, she could see a familiar set of blue eyes looking down at her, filled with concern.

 _To look nothing alike, they really do have the same eyes._

Scott's lip was cut, his face was red and puffy from crying, and his light yellow polo was now torn and covered in blood. Both of his hands were purple and swollen, and his knuckles were bleeding and raw. Carefully, he reached over to softly ruffle his younger brother's hair, tears still rolling down his face.

"Everything will be okay." He attempted to reassure her, not sounding overly convinced himself. "Everything will be okay."

 _Nothing is okay. Can't you see that nothing is fucking okay?_

After a moment, Scott got up to go unlock the front door and turn on the porch light for the paramedics, grateful for the opportunity to have a second alone. Under the guise of going outside to make sure the emergency workers could find the house, he stood alone in the driveway, sobbing as the bitter February wind battered against his exposed arms and tear stained face.

In the distance, Julie could faintly hear the sounds of sirens. Carefully, she squeezed Adam's left hand, hoping she wasn't hurting him by doing so.

"I love you." She softly whispered, unsure of whether or not he could hear her.

Just as the sirens outside were growing louder, she thought she noticed his pale eyelashes begin to flutter. Instinctively, she squeezed his hand harder, her other hand reaching over to gently brush the hair out of his eyes.

"Come on, preppy. Wake up for me." She smiled, "I love you. I kind of need for you to be okay for me, alright?"

 _Geez, I must sound like a dumbass right now, begging my unconscious boyfriend to wake up. What is this? The worst soap opera ever?_

This time, it was unmistakable. His eyelashes were definitely fluttering. Just as the lights from the approaching sirens began to dance through the foyer, his eyes slowly opened, and it vaguely sounded like he muttered "I love you, too", though as incoherent as he was, she knew that was likely just her imagination.

 _._

Julie sat silently in the passenger seat of Scott's Saab, staring down at her tan Birkenstock clogs. Down by her feet, dozens of empty beer cans rolled around, vibrating from the bass of N.W.A.'s _Fuck The Police_ , and in the console next to her, she could see a marijuana pipe and what she really hoped was a small bag of baking powder for impromptu cake making.

 _What has happened to my life? Three hours ago, I was studying chemistry, like the good, responsible child my parents raised me to be. Now I am sitting in a drug filled car with a strange man who's covered in blood. This is so NOT how I envisioned my night playing out!_

 _Also, can we get any more ironic? I mean, I could sort of, kind of imagine this turn of events with a guy like Portman, but Adam? I could not, in a zillion years, have foreseen Mr. Sweatervest getting me into this situation! Not that he exactly meant to…._

"Are you sure you don't want me to take you back to the dorms? I don't want you to get in trouble or anything, and besides, I'm sure it's just going to be a lot of waiting at the hospital. I can always call you if anything happens." Scott offered as they approached the turn off for Eden Hall.

"No, I'm going to the hospital with you."

"Okay, well, if you decide you want me to take you back later, I will."

"Thanks."

The two then went back to their respective silent thoughts, Julie staring wordlessly out the window, looking out into the darkness of the residential suburbia that was passing them by.

.

Over the course of the following hour, everyone sat. And sat. And sat.

Julie, Scott, Phil, and Bunny all sat nervously in the hospital waiting room, flipping awkwardly through old copies of Golfer's Digest and Family Circle as they anxiously awaited any news. As the minutes passed, the swelling in Phil's face intensified until his features were unrecognizable, his eyes nearly swollen shut. Still, nobody said anything. They all just stared at the plastic covered magazines and the white tile floor of the waiting room, hoping for good news. Roughly every fifteen minutes, Phil and Scott would take turns going outside to smoke a cigarette, both more than willing to tolerate the biting wind in exchange for a temporary reprieve from the petri dish of nerves that the waiting room had become. At times, Julie found herself wishing she smoked so that she could join the rotation of nicotine addicts. So that she could get a break from the four sterile walls of the waiting room and the copy of _Parents_ that sat mindlessly in her lap.

.

A little over an hour after arriving at the hospital, a portly doctor with a grey beard and white lab coat walked into the waiting room to give everyone the update they had been waiting so anxiously for. Emotionlessly, he explained that Adam had a severe concussion, a mild skull fracture, a deep laceration along the back of scalp, three broken ribs, a broken collarbone, a compound fracture of his right forearm, and multiple broken bones in his wrist. He'd need to stay in the hospital overnight for observation, and the arm and wrist would both require surgery, but from a survival standpoint, he would most likely be alright.

For a moment, everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Then Phil asked the question that was on the back of everyone's mind.

"How bad are the arm and wrist?"

The doctor hesitated for a moment, but the look on his face told everyone all they needed to know.

"I'm not an orthopedic surgeon. I just re-set the bones well enough to restore circulation. You'll need to talk to the surgeon in a day or two for details."

.

By the time family was allowed to visit, Adam was more coherent than he had been when the paramedics had taken him away, but he was still dazed and groggy, only marginally aware of what was going on around him. The throbbing in his head and the searing pain of every breath clouded his already scrambled thoughts, to the point that his mind barely registered Julie's presence when she was finally allowed to see him.

"Hey Adam" She warmly greeted, bending down to kiss his forehead, "I told them I was your sister so I could come see you."

Still used to the incessant, blaring brightness of the waiting room, it took her eyes a moment to fully adjust to his room, lit only by the various monitors and the ambient light streaming in from the hallway. Once her eyes adjusted, she half wished that they hadn't. It wasn't that Adam looked particularly bad, so much as that he just looked very un-Adam-like, with his normally perfect hair still caked in blood, his meticulous clothes replaced by a flimsy hospital gown, and his sparkling blue eyes dull and clouded over. Even though he was physically right there beside her, in her mind, he was nowhere to found, and even though the doctor had reassured her everything was normal, a part of her was worried she'd never find him again.

 _._

A little later yet that night, noting that he was still groggy and confused, a nurse asked if anyone from the family wanted to stay overnight with him so that he'd have a familiar presence nearby. As much as seeing him earlier had killed her, Julie happily volunteered for the job, crossing her fingers that her Adam would come back during the night.

Still too lost in her own thoughts to notice, Scott quietly ducked out. A little less than an hour later, he returned with a pair of Adam's sweatpants, an old T-shirt from hockey camp, a sweatshirt, a very large bag of junk food, and a one eyed stuffed manatee.

"I figured you could use something to sleep in. Plus, a certain queer is probably going to start his missing his beloved Mr. Fluffy before too long." Scott smiled, handing the bag of clothes and the threadbare stuffed animal over to Julie. Noticing that she was still eyeing the second bag in his hands, he added "And you've definitely had a Dunk-A-Roos kind of night, so I raided the pantry. There's also a box of Cheez-Its, a bag of Doritos, and a thing of Twinkies in there. So basically, everything you need for a well balanced night of eating your feelings."

Julie just stared at him for a second, trying to reconcile this version of Scott Banks with the guy who had come home at six in the evening wearing a sombrero and his own vomit.

"Need anything else before I go?"

"No, I'm good. Thank you so much."

"Well, I wrote down my beeper number, so if you need anything, just call. Otherwise, I'll be by in the morning to take you to school."

He briefly went back into Adam's room to tell him goodbye for the night, and then noting the look of concern still written across Julie's face, he gave her a hug, wrapping his muscular arms tightly around her.

"It'll all be okay." He reassured her, his massive frame enveloping her, "He'll be back to being the same annoying loser in no time."

.

At about three in the morning, Adam began to stir awake, his thoughts clearer than they had been in hours. He smiled when he realized that someone had placed Mr. Fluffy in the crook of his left arm, and trying not to move his still pounding head, he glanced around the dark room, taking in his surroundings. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a person lying on a cot beside his bed. Carefully turning his head slightly to get a better look, he noticed a long blonde ponytail.

 _Julie? Julie's staying the night with me?_

It was only then that it dawned on him that he could feel the hospital's scratchy sheets and waffle weave blanket a little too intimately in some places.

 _Oh God, I'm not wearing pants! Julie is sleeping just a couple of feet away from me, and I don't have any pants on!_

 _To be fair, technically I suppose this is what I've been dreaming about for years._

 _Clearly, I should have been more specific about that wish. Waaaay way more specific._

…..


	12. All Alone

….

The next morning, Julie awoke to someone nudging her arm. Before she could even open her sleep encrusted eyes, she was hit with the olfactory assault of cigarettes and vodka, the smell overtaking her sleepy senses and jolting her out of her peaceful slumber. Looking up through the limited pre-dawn light, she could make out a large male figure standing over her that she genuinely hoped was Scott. The only other plausible possibility was a lost hobo, and she figured Scott was the less troubling of the two options.

She let out a sleepy groan, annoyed at the fact that she was being roused from the sleep that had eluded her for so long the night before.

"Time for school." The shadowy figure mumbled in a whisper, obviously not fully awake himself.

She turned her head towards the window opposite Adam's bed, and stared out into the grayish purple sky.

 _If the sun doesn't have to be up yet, why do I?_

She then did what she dreaded—what she'd spent hours the night before trying to get out of her head. She looked over at Adam.

He was lying there motionless, his hair still caked in blood and his arm swallowed by a massive cast that stretched from his hand to his shoulder. Even in his sleep, it looked like he was in pain.

"I'll be in the waiting room grabbing some coffee." Scott whispered, trying to stifle a yawn.

By this time, her eyes had fully adjusted to the grey, early morning light, and she could see that the slightly husky brunette standing over her had, at some point, traded in his jeans and polo from the night before for a shower curtain. A white University of Minnesota baseball cap, a black North Face coat, Birkenstocks, and a blue striped shower curtain.

 _He kind of looks the way I feel._

For another moment, she just lay quietly on the stiff hospital cot, trying to force herself to get up. Trying to force herself to face the day…a prospect that, after the night before, did not sound particularly appealing.

She looked over at Adam again, still trying to process what had happened. As he lay there lightly snoring, all she could do was stare, trying to eke out some clue as to whether she was still looking at the bright, determined boy she'd had a crush on since she was 13. The boy who was better on the ice than everyone else combined, and who always held the door for her, and who was a surprisingly passionate kisser. Try as she might, though, his sleeping face yielded no clues.

Slowly, she got up and went into the bathroom to change back into her clothes from the day before. Then, before she left, she gently kissed the bridge of his nose and carefully combed his bangs with her fingers, trying to restore his hair back to at least a modicum of its normal perfection.

"Will you be alright while I'm at school all day?" She whispered, half wanting to wake him up, and half trying not to.

He mumbled something unintelligible before going right back to sleep, which did little to alleviate the knot in her stomach.

 _Will you be alright at all?_

She gave his good shoulder a quick pat, grabbed her coat, and followed Scott through the winding corridors of the hospital and into the bitter cold of the pre-dawn morning. As they made their way through the dark parking lot, she couldn't help but concede that he had unintentionally provided her with the perfect measure for judging just how horrible a night had been—from now on, she would ask herself 'Was it regular bad, or 'wake up wearing a shower curtain' bad?'.

Last night had definitely been shower curtain bad.

As she sat in the warm car, Sublime's _What I Got_ filling the air, she glanced over at her vodka-scented driver, his blue eyes still glazed and bloodshot from a night of partying away his despair.

"Fuck it and fight it, it's all the same", the lyrics played.

" _I get it."_ She thought, a part of her longing for escapism that he had clearly embraced _._

…

"Oh my God, where were you last night?" Connie sharply demanded as soon as Julie opened the door to the dorm room they shared, her voice a mix of anger and concern.

As soon as she caught a glimpse of her distressed looking roommate in yesterday's wrinkled clothes, the anger melted from her voice. Everything about Julie's body language made it apparent that whatever the night before had been, it had not been fun.

"Are you okay? What happened?" She gently asked, wrapping her disheveled roommate in a warm embrace.

"It's nothing, I'm fine." Julie blankly answered.

Connie thought back, her mind pouring over the possibilities. The last she'd heard from Julie the afternoon before, she had said she was going over to Adam's to study. She couldn't really imagine her gentle teammate doing anything untoward, but she also couldn't help but worry. After all, even after four years, she really didn't know much about the guy.

"You don't look fine. Did…did Adam _do something_?"

"Oh my God, no! No, nothing like that! It just…"

Julie wasn't sure how to finish her sentence. She didn't feel like the previous night's events were hers to tell, but clearly, she was eventually going to have to tell Connie _something_. Besides, before long, the team was probably going to notice that they were short a certain center. As painfully oblivious as 15 year old boys could be at times, that one was going to be pretty hard to miss.

"We-we spent the night at the hospital." Julie finally added, "He fell down the stairs."

 _Mostly true._

"Wait, what?! Oh my gosh, poor Adam! Is he okay?"

 _I wish I knew…_

…

As Julie went through her morning in a state of sleep deprived auto-pilot, Phil Banks was busy making phone calls, arranging to have his son treated by the premier orthopedic surgeon in the state. By mid-afternoon, father and son were making the hour and a half trip down to Rochester. For 107 awkward minutes, the two sat in excruciating silence as they watched the city give way to snow covered blandness, Adam occasionally adjusting his seat up or down in a futile attempt to find a position that wasn't overly painful.

At one point, Phil asked Adam if he was hungry, but that was the full extent of their interaction. For the rest of the trip, the only sound was the dull hum of the Mercedes' engine and Phil nervously drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.

He knew he'd screwed up this time.

He'd screwed up plenty of times, of course. There had been the coffee table incident. There had been the time he'd dislocated Scott's shoulder from grabbing him the wrong way. There had been the time he'd slammed Scott's hand in the car door, breaking all of his fingers. There had been the time he'd broken his wife's nose. But none of those things had been a huge deal. Those had just been things that had happened—no different than the things that always happened when he was growing up. He'd never _really_ hurt his loved ones. He wasn't that kind of person.

But now he had, and he was, and there wasn't any undoing it.

…

Julie, meanwhile, couldn't stop the thousand worries running through her head. The usual neat, thorough notes she took during every class were now replaced by mindless boxes and squiggles, and she traded in her usual lunch of a turkey sandwich and fruit for fries and a slice of chocolate cake.

As soon as class was over, she took advantage of the thirty minutes between school and practice to rush back to her room and call the hospital. The receptionist there said he was gone, so she tried his house. The only person she got there was a very intoxicated sounding Bunny, who had no idea where anyone was. She then started to try Scott, only to realize that she'd lost his number.

 _Great_. _I've managed to misplace my brain-injured boyfriend. No wonder I never got any of the good patches in Girl Scouts_.

…

Back in Rochester, meanwhile, Phil's feelings of guilt had found a new outlet—making life miserable for every poor worker who had the misfortune of encountering him. The cashier at the gas station was too slow. The receptionist at the Mayo Clinic wasn't friendly enough. The waiting room was too cold. The free coffee tasted burnt. The doctor kept them waiting for too long. The 'No Smoking' signs were a tyrannical overreach of the liberal agenda. The magazines were out of date. The magazines that weren't hopelessly out of date were for women, and what the hell was he supposed to do with a parenting magazine?

Looking down at the offending magazine, Adam couldn't help but smile a little when he saw that the featured cover stories included 'Tame Your Anger In 3 Easy Steps' and "Quiz: Are You Pushing Your Kids Too Hard?'.

 _Nice one, God._

Finally, just around the time that Phil had run out of nearby things to complain about, and had been forced to settle for complaining about Iowa, they were called into meet with Dr. Chen. Unfortunately for all involved, they already knew Dr. Chen quite well, courtesy of a certain necessary wrist surgery following the Goodwill Games. Judging from the weary expression on Dr. Chen's thin, weathered face, Adam could tell that, even after two years, the man still remembered his father all too well.

 **...**

At about the same time that the plans for the next day's surgery were being reviewed, Julie was suffering through the last of hockey practice. The fries and chocolate cake were feeling like a very big mistake, and she managed to stop exactly three shots over the course of the entire practice. She was pretty sure that if she just laid down in front of the goal and took a nap, that it would actually result in _more_ stopped shots than what she was currently managing, which, quite frankly, made the prospect sound rather tempting.

Making it all worse, she could practically feel the gossip in the air. She wasn't sure what anyone was saying, but she knew they were talking. They had to be. After all, it was not just every day that the two most consistent members of the team were absent—physically or mentally. And the way she was playing, it was obvious that she was no more present than Adam was.

 _Hell, if he were here, he'd probably still be playing better than I am right now. Not that I'm exactly setting the bar high here._

…

Upon returning to the dorm after practice, she once again called his house, hoping she could talk to someone. Hoping she could find out _something_. But alas, there was no answer at all.

She tried to concentrate on her homework, but it was no use. After an hour of staring blankly at her geometry problems, she tried calling his house again. And again. It was all to no avail. He was nowhere to be found. There was no information to be had.

Finally, she gave up and changed into her very softest pajamas—the green ones with scarf wearing polar bears. It was pretty clear that she wasn't going to be going anywhere for the rest of the evening, so she figured she might as well worry in comfort.

Connie broke out a bag of Hershey's Kisses and some microwave popcorn, and the two mindlessly watched Clueless for the seven trillionth time, Cher's glamorous dramas doing nothing to distract her from the consuming worry gnawing at her stomach.

.

Ninety miles away, Adam was lying in a hospital bed, staring up at the popcorn ceiling, thinking about the surgery he had scheduled for the next morning. During that afternoon's consultation with Dr. Chen, he hadn't asked many questions. He had been afraid to…he suspected the gentle doctor's sad demeanor said everything he needed to know.

Looking over at the clock hanging on the wall across from his bed, it began to sink in that on top of everything else, he hadn't heard from Julie all day. She'd left that morning without waking him, and by the time he woke up at eight, she was long gone. All afternoon, he'd assumed she would eventually call, but now it was nearly nine, and the phone had never rang.

 _Well, I can't say I blame her._

 _After all, what good is a hockey obsessed loser who can't even play hockey anymore?_

He wished he could at least hold onto Mr. Fluffy, but alas, just like his girlfriend, his stuffed manatee was also missing.

 _He's probably with someone better now, too._

 _Good for him. Good for him and Julie._

…

"How long is he going to be out?"

Those were the first words he heard after he came out of surgery the next day. Groggily he opened his eyes, and there in front of his hospital bed he could see his dad, arms crossed, talking with the diminutive Dr. Chen. Phil wasn't an exceptionally tall guy, but he still towered over the small, aging doctor.

"Pardon?"

"How much longer until he can play again?" Phil clarified, sounding more agitated by the second.

Between the anesthesia and his fractured skull, Adam felt like there was a demolition crew in his head, blowing his brain apart with giant sticks of dynamite. The bright early afternoon sunlight streaming in through the window was, by itself, doing plenty to exacerbate his agony. Worse, though, was his dad's tone. Listening to his dad and the doctor go back and fourth was enough to make him wish his brain actually would explode, ideally in time to keep him from having to hear the doctor's answer.

Even though every movement sent additional pain shooting through his body, courtesy the broken ribs that felt like they were shredding apart his lungs, he lifted his left arm in an awkward attempt to cover his ears. He hoped that by doing so, he could somehow magically drown out what he knew the doctor was about to say.

 _I'm not ready to hear it_. _Not right now._

"This isn't the place to discuss that."

"What do you mean 'this isn't the place to discuss that'? This is a hospital room. You are the surgeon. Now please answer my question."

The doctor sighed, hoping his patient was still asleep. "Sir, your son's arm was completely shattered. He has three pins in his wrist. It took four plates to reconstruct his radius and ulna. At this point, his arm is more titanium than bone."

 _I can't be hearing this._

"You're still not answering my question."

 _No dad._

"I am answering your question. My answer is that your son's hockey career is over."

 _No. No. No. Noooooo!_

 _Anything but that, God. Anything but that._

This time there was no Julie lying beside him. There was no Mr. Fluffy in his arms. There was nothing to comfort him. Everything he loved was gone.

Even with his dad and the doctor only a few feet away, he was all alone.

…


	13. Julie and Pizza

…...

"So, my hockey career is over, huh?" Adam asked the small Asian doctor several hours later, during the post-surgery consult.

Outwardly, he was maintaining his calm, stoic facade, the only indication of his true feelings being the way that he was biting the inside of his lip. Inside, it was a different story. He was falling apart. He couldn't decide if he wanted to collapse to the floor in a crying heap or destroy every item in the room—both options sounded enticing, and he wasn't entirely opposed to combining the two. For that matter, pulling a Menendez Brothers didn't feel like an unappealing prospect.

Dr. Chen looked down for a second, pinching the bridge of his narrow nose as he thought about what to say.

"You heard me talking to your dad, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry. I didn't want you to hear that. Not like that."

The doctor paused again, still trying to think of the right words. Finally, after another minute, he spoke, trying to balance his desire not to crush the dreams of the kid in front of him with the need to be realistic.

"Most likely, yes. The surgery went as well as it possibly could, but there was a lot of damage. You aren't going to have the same range of motion in your wrist, and only time will tell how well the bones in your forearm are going to heal."

Adam just sighed, nodding politely.

"But" the doctor added, "you're young. You're healthy. The nerves and blood vessels are fine. And honestly, you're one of the most determined patients I've ever treated. All of those things are in your favor. You're looking at three months in a cast and a minimum of six months of physical therapy before you can even think about holding a hockey stick, but from there, I don't know. Your arm isn't going to be the same as it was before, and it's very unlikely that you'll ever return to a high level of play, but I'm not going to be the one to tell you that you'll never play again. At least, not right now. That's just a bridge we'll have to cross when we come to it."

 _I hope the bridge is high enough that I can throw myself off of it._

 _._

That night as he lay in bed, he pressed the button for more pain medication as many times as he could, hoping to dull the pain. Eventually, the physical pain started to disappear into a haze of morphine, and his thoughts became cloudier, but his muddled thoughts were just as depressing as his clear ones. It seemed that there weren't enough narcotics in the world to allow him to forget that all of his dreams had died.

.

The next morning, father and son made the very quiet trip back up to Edina, this time saying even less than they had two days earlier. Adam leaned his leather seat back as far as it would go, contemplating the unfairness of life, his sulking face hidden behind a dark pair of sunglasses that did frustratingly little to block out the incessantly cheery sun. Phil spent the entire time mindlessly toying with the air vents and temperature controls, his hands unable to stay still as he thought about what he'd done to his child's future.

There was nothing either of them could say.

.

Upon arriving home, Adam trudged straight up to his bedroom to lie down. He still felt like hell, and there was nothing better to do. As far as he was concerned, his life was over. As he slowly walked up the now infamous steps, he wallowed in his own angst.

 _Maybe if I just stay in bed long enough, a jet plane will crash into the house and kill me._

 _It happened to a guy on the news. Surely it could happen to me._

 _Nevermind. I'll never get that lucky. I'll probably live to be the oldest man in the world. I could have another 120 years of this ahead of me._

Walking into his tidy room, the pillows and matching plaid comforter still slightly askew from his and Julie's makeout session, he noticed something sitting on the bed.

Mr. Fluffy.

Someone had gone back to retrieve the threadbare manatee.

For the first time in two days, he smiled. Carefully, he pulled down the covers and lowered himself down onto the bed, clutching the beloved stuffed animal against his chest.

It still really sucked to be Adam Banks, but it was nice for at least one thing to be okay again. Even if that one thing did make him feel pretty pathetic.

Eventually, he drifted off to sleep, Mr. Fluffy still securely by his side.

.

Several hours later, he was startled awake by the sound of the phone on his nightstand. He thought about answering it, but it was on the wrong side for him to easily reach, and twisting around to grab it sounded like a very painful prospect. As such, he just let it ring, his tired body quickly drifting back to sleep afterwards.

A bit later, he once again woke up to the ring of his cordless phone. Feeling annoyed by the interruption, he closed his eyes, trying to ignore the jarring noise so that he could once again go back to his dreamland.

"Adam" his mom called out a second later, "it's for you."

"Hello" He answered, trying not to let it show in his voice that reaching over for the phone had indeed been every bit as unpleasant as he'd imagined.

When he heard the voice at the other end, all of the pain magically melted away. It was Julie. His beloved Julie, who, as it turned out, had not actually left him for someone with two good arms.

"Oh my gosh, Adam! I've been trying to get ahold of you for two days! How are you? Are you okay?"

 _I'm not sure "okay" is the right word…_

"Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry, I was in the hospital, so I had no idea you'd been calling. How have you been?"

"Well, mostly I've been worrying about you!"

 _Really?_

"Is it alright if I come over?" She finally asked a minute into their conversation. "I mean, I understand if you don't feel up to it, but I've really, really missed you these last few days."

"You never have to ask if you can come over. I'm always happy to see you."

"Aww, you're the sweetest! I'll be there in twenty minutes."

.

It wasn't until they got off the phone that Adam realized there was one little problem: He hadn't showered in almost four days.

Slowly, he made his way over to the dresser mirror, where his worst fears were confirmed. He looked like he'd been swimming in grease, the "blonde" long gone from his sandy blonde hair. His sad looking grey sweatpants and a ketchup stained T-shirt from junior high math club weren't exactly helping the already sorry situation, and upon sniffing himself, he realized that he smelled like a very unfortunate combination of hospital and gym socks.

 _Portman smells better than this._

Knowing that Julie would be at his door in roughly another 18 minutes, his options for improving the situation were limited. Getting in and out of the shower within that time frame was out of the question, and realistically, changing shirts was a complicated two person/twenty minute task all by itself.

Pants, however, were an easy enough fix, so he traded the sweatpants of sadness for a pair of jeans. He then reapplied deodorant and spritzed on the Acqua di Gio, hoping it would help him smell at least slightly less like a 90 year old's underwear. Desperate to help hide the world's least sexy shirt, he grabbed the world's least sexy fleece jacket to drape over his arm—late 80's Nordic print Columbia was not his idea of a good look, but it was the only lightweight zip front jacket he had laying around, and it still seemed like less of a girl repellant than advertising that he'd been in math club. Finally, he grabbed a baseball cap to cover his greasy bangs and the awkward bald spot on the back of his head where his scalp had been stapled shut.

Re-checking himself in the mirror, the end result…still wasn't that great, really. The overall effect was very 'Kurt Cobain takes time machine back to 80's Aspen', which he was almost certain was NOT Julie's preferred aesthetic. Still, compared to the alternative, it was a marked improvement.

Concluding that he had done all that he could do, and making a mental note to go shopping for a new jacket soon, he began the slow process of making his way down the stairs so that he could greet her at the door. The long staircase felt a little like descending Mt. Everest, but his sense of chivalry was one of the few things that had not been not broken.

He nervously spent the next five minutes waiting on the couch near the foyer, hoping that she wouldn't be too grossed out. Hoping that she wouldn't ask too many questions about his arm. Hoping that she wouldn't decide to leave him for a guy with a future.

As the doorbell chimed, he got up and made the short walk to the foyer, mentally coaching himself on what to do.

 _Come on, Kurt Cobain. Smile. Act happy. Pretend like your life isn't totally over._ _She'll figure it out eventually, and yeah, she'll probably leave you then, but none of that has to happen today!_

Once he actually opened the door and saw her, his concerns temporarily disappeared. Looking at her smiling pink cheeks, still flushed from the cold, and her warm green eyes, it was impossible for him not to be happy. She was perfect, and it made everything else just a little more perfect, too. He carefully hugged her with his good arm, tilting his head down to kiss her still cool cheek.

Finally feeling the embrace of the adorably scruffy preppy she'd spent so many hours worrying about, Julie wanted nothing more than to pull his toned body against hers and never let go. Unfortunately, she was also well aware that with his multiple broken ribs, a proper hug was off of the table. Unable to hug him the way she wanted to for fear of hurting him further, she just stood there stiffly for a moment, causing him to think that all of his fears had been well founded. His face fell, and he slowly pulled away from her, feeling dejected.

 _I should have known._

However, just as he started let loose of his embrace, she gently pulled his left arm into a squeeze, creating something of an awkward hug by proxy. Glancing down at her smiling face, it finally dawned on him that she wasn't rejecting him, after all. She was simply afraid of hurting him. While a real hug from her would have been well worth the discomfort, he appreciated how careful and considerate she was. His smile quickly returned, and with his arm already in hers, he led her over to the main floor living room. From there, he opened the TV armoire and turned on the television, and together they sat awkwardly on the stiff white antique sofa from the 1800's, both lamenting to themselves that the sofa had clearly not been picked for comfort.

"Did anyone actually sit on this couch before buying it?" Julie finally asked after a second, unable to ignore the fact that she felt like she was sitting on upholstered concrete.

Adam laughed, grateful for the fact that unlike his mother and her friends, Julie was the kind of girl who understood that sofas were meant to be sat on.

"Tell me about it. We used to have an awesome leather sectional down here, but Mom decided it was tacky and replaced it with this stupid thing. The way Dad and Scott reacted, you would have thought she murdered their best friend! I was honestly sort of hoping I'd get two Christmases out of the deal, but I guess dad decided an uncomfortable couch was better than paying alimony."

"Darn! You could have had double the turkey dinner AND a comfortable couch!"

"Seriously! Plus, when the neighbors got divorced, that woman went onto marry a guy who owned a chain of Pizza Huts, so now they get free pizza all the time! Two Christmases, a comfortable couch, and free pizza? Those kids hit the jackpot!"

"Okay, that settles it! We've got to figure out how to get your parents divorced so you can have a comfortable couch and all of the pizza!"

"Yes! Help me figure out how to do it, and I'll make sure you get your share of the pizza!"

"Do I get a cut of the Christmas presents, too?"

"Dang" He smiled, "you drive a hard bargain! Will you settle for some catnip in your stocking?"

"I hate you!" She laughed, leaning over to kiss him, her nose lightly brushing against his. Inside, she smiled at the fact that despite his scruffy appearance, he still tasted like toothpaste and minty mouthwash.

Before long, the two were curled up together on the antique sofa, watching Sabrina the Teenage Witch. As Adam wrapped his left arm around her waist, Julie slowly realized that he wasn't going to fall apart at the slightest touch, and so she finally leaned her head against his shoulder, grateful that in all of the ways that mattered, he was still the exact same boy who's name she'd secretly doodled in her notebook at thirteen. As Sabrina and her aunts bantered back and forth, both quietly basked in their good fortune, acutely aware of what they had almost lost.

"You know," Julie finally spoke up after a few minutes, her head still resting against his shoulder "you really scared me the other night."

"I'm sorry."

"Oh my gosh, no, I didn't mean it like that! It's that I…"

 _That I really love you._

"That I really care about you a lot." Julie finally finished, having lost the nerve to say what she truly wanted to say.

' _I really care about you'? Geez Cat Lady, way to make things awkward!_ She thought to herself, wishing that she would have had the courage to say what she meant.

"Well, thank you. I really care a lot about you, too."

 _You told him when he was unconscious. Why is it so much harder now?_

.

The two stayed cuddled up together on the couch until it was nearly time for curfew, each enjoying every wonderful moment of the other's embrace. Adam still had a thousand concerns running through his pounding head, but the sweet scent of Julie's coconut shampoo and the feeling of her trim body resting against his made all of those thoughts seem so much less suffocating. As her hand mindlessly rubbed the inside of his lower thigh, he could almost forget about all of the painful things, instead lost in the warm feeling of his love for her.

That night, he asked his dad to drive her home, and about 45 minutes after they dropped her off at the dorm, he heard the doorbell. It was a delivery man from Pizza Hut, holding a delicious looking pepperoni pizza, a message hastily scribbled across the top of the box in blue marker. Looking down to read it, a smile overtook his tired face, causing his eyes to wrinkle up in the corners.

 _Roses are red_

 _Violets are blue_

 _Pizza tastes better than flowers_

 _I hope you feel better soon_

 _Love,_

 _Julie_

" _I could handle another 120 years of this."_ He thought to himself as he lay in bed that night, still stuffed on pizza, Mr. Fluffy lying beside him.

… _.._


	14. A (Temporary) End to Wallowing

Author's note: So uh, my apologies that I'm just now getting around to switching the rating on this to M. I kind of meant to do that awhile ago, but forgot.

Then again, if you're old enough to fondly remember The Mighty Ducks, you're also probably old enough to have heard the F-word a few times. If not, my deepest apologies for any vocabulary expansion I may have contributed to.

… _.._

The next morning, Adam woke to a foam Nerf dart pelting his nose. Sleepily, he opened his eyes just long enough to see a figure with a messy mop of strawberry blonde hair and a maroon Hampden-Sydney sweatshirt standing near the foot of his bed.

"Fuck you" He mumbled just as another dart bounced off his forehead. Annoyed, he pulled the covers over his face, creating a shield against both the spongy foam and the blinding sunlight streaming in through his bedroom window.

"Nah, you're not really my type." A nasally voice replied, jerking the plaid comforter off the bed.

 _You know who was an underrated friend? Brian fucking McGill. That asshole never got out of bed before noon._

 _Unlike a certain someone._

"Go to hell, Larson!" He shouted, grabbing his alarm clock and throwing it at the unwanted intruder. The cheap plastic clock missed Larson by a solid ten feet, and landed against the navy blue wall with a harmless thud.

"You uh, you ever stop to think that your dad should have signed you up for a season or two of Little League when you were younger?" Larson smirked, looking at the fallen black clock.

"Yeah yeah yeah, Mr. Well Rounded Childhood, I could still kick your ass."

"So? Most people can. You're not really setting the bar that high."

"You realize you're like, the worst trash talker in Hawk history, right?"

"Worst trash talker. Fewest concussions. Most likely to still remember how to write my own name when I'm 30. You can make fun now, but one day you and Brian are going to be so fucking jealous of the way I can tie my shoes and recite the alphabet and shit."

"A-B-C-D-E-F-U-C-K-Y-O-U" Adam sang as he grabbed a hockey puck from his nightstand and threw it at Larson, once again missing by an embarrassing margin.

 _Okay, maybe one season of Little League would have been a good thing._

"God you're sad off the ice!"

"Well, fortunately for you, you suck equally in all environments!"

"That's what all the ladies say!"

"Wait" Larson added a second later, noticing Adam's amused expression "that didn't come out the way I meant for it to! I'm….actually not sure how I did mean for that to come out, now that I think about it."

"Yeah, I'm not really sure what you were aiming for there, either. It's a good thing you've taken such good care of those precious brain cells, though. They seem to be doing you a lot of good!"

"Fuck you."

.

The discussions of who, exactly, should fuck whom continued on for another ten minutes before Adam finally roused himself from the warm cocoon of his bed and trudged over to the upstairs seating area. Lazily sprawling across the entire couch as he flipped through the channels, Larson was reduced to sitting on the floor, where as revenge for forcing him out of bed with Nerf darts, Adam proceeded to "accidentally" put his feet in Larson's face at every possible opportunity. For nearly twenty minutes, Larson batted away a large set of feet before bringing an end to the problem by getting up and plopping himself back down on top of Adam's shins.

"Shit!" Adam yelped, returning the favor by delivering a rather solid strike to Larson's head with the remote control.

"Fuckin' Christ, man!" Larson whined, rubbing the side of his head.

"You alright?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah"

And with that, the two reached a truce. Quietly, they watched the rest of the Sunday edition of Sports Center from opposite ends of the couch, their feet propped up on the ornately carved coffee table as they stared wordlessly at the television, occasionally reaching over to the center of the table to grab a brownie off the massive platter of baked goods that Mrs. Larson had sent over with her son.

"So" Larson finally asked during a commercial break, still staring at the glowing TV screen "you want to tell me what happened?"

"I fell down the stairs."

"Uh huh. Quite the fall."

"You're the one who cut his mouth open on a Capri Sun and had to get stitches."

"My dad assured me that happens to lots of people."

"Capri Sun accidents? Yeah, totally a leading cause of death. Right up there with indoor lightening strikes and narwhal attacks."

"Fuck you"

"Anyway, I'm just saying…" Larson added a second later, not quite ready to drop the subject.

"The stairs are fucking marble. Remember the time Brian slid down them and broke his ankle?"

Larson laughed, thinking back to the time Scott had convinced the three of them that the Kirkpatrick twins were out sunbathing naked in the front yard, and that the full majesty of the situation could only be appreciated from the foyer. Brian McGill had gotten so excited at the prospect of seeing Kerry and Kelly's matching perky tan breasts that he missed a step and landed awkwardly on the side of his foot, creating a chain reaction as Larson and Adam then tripped over him, all landing in a painful heap on top of one another.

"Okay, that is like the worst staircase ever!" Larson winced, unconsciously rubbing his elbow at the memory of the painful landing. "Still, you really mean to tell me that you fell down the stairs and then your dad just happened to like, get hit in the face by a dump truck on the way to the hospital or something? Because when he answered the door this morning, he wasn't looking too hot…"

Suddenly, Adam found himself _very_ focused on the Mentos commercial that was playing on the television in front of them, quietly humming along to the theme song.

 _Mentos freshness_

 _Fresh goes better with Mentos_

 _Fresh and full of life_

Sensing that his perpetually closed off friend was not going to be making any sudden communication breakthroughs, Larson finally decided to drop the subject, and went back to staring mindlessly at the suave, minty fresh guys on the TV who he had nothing in common with.

 _He and McGill got the fancy houses. I got the decent parents_.

.

That afternoon, Mrs. Larson came to pick up her son, and brought yet another pile of baked goods with her.

"How is my favorite little Quaker Oatmeal Man?" She asked, a concerned smile across her freckled face as she gently hugged the boy who was now more than a foot taller than her.

"Better now that you brought even more food!"

"Well, what can I say? I have to fatten you up somehow! Right now, I think you and Reid weigh about as much as I do, and I'm a lot shorter. Either you two are going to have to fatten up, or I'm going to have to lose some weight, and I really don't want to have to stop eating brownies myself!"

Looking down at his pleasantly plump former pre-school teacher, Adam couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy at the mom card his best friend had drawn. The short, sunny ginger matched her bright floral print GAP cardigan and fuchsia lipstick—she truly was as cheery and good-natured as she looked. She was, in other words, the exact opposite of the tall blonde upstairs who could go days without getting out of bed.

 _I wonder if she needs another son…_

 _On second thought, never mind. Now that, thanks to my rich parents, I no longer have a future, I kind of need my rich parents._

 _Oh the fucking irony…_

Later that afternoon, several other friends, including Charlie and Guy, called Adam to see how he was doing and asked about coming over, but not being in the mood to get cleaned up, he turned them all away. Larson seeing him with unwashed hair and stained clothing was one thing, but seeing anyone else required proper pants and a shower. He planned on returning to the world of pressed khakis and reasonable hygiene soon enough, but for the moment, he wanted to wallow, and wallowing was what he was going to do.

.

Monday brought a check up with the neurologist, and Tuesday brought another uncomfortable trip to Rochester for a follow up appointment with the orthopedic surgeon. Sitting in the cigarette smoke filled sedan as the now very familiar snowy Minnesota countryside passed by, it suddenly dawned on Adam that there was a certain irony to the fact that they were going to the Mayo Clinic for his arm, but that his dad trusted the senile, 92 year old Dr. Mueller to make sure that his brain was okay. During the cognitive evaluation the day before, Dr. Mueller had himself forgotten the correct answers, which Adam hardly found confidence inspiring, but which didn't seem to faze Phil in the least.

 _Dad always has been a man of well-placed priorities._

 _I guess Larson may have a point about Brian and me. I should probably start sucking up to him now so that one day he can help me write my name and figure out how to put on shoes. Maybe if play my cards right, he'll only help me, and dumbass Brian will be stuck walking around barefoot with shoes on his hands…_

 _That's right, Future Brian. Sucks to suck, bitch._

.

By the time they got home Tuesday evening, it was time to prepare for a foray back into the world of normal people. One very long overdue shower and a clumsy attempt at left handed shaving later, Adam was relieved to see that there was no longer a nerdy Kurt Cobain wannabe staring back at him when he looked in the mirror. Of course, the nerdy Kurt Cobain wannabe had been replaced by an awkward 15 year old who looked like he'd tried to shave with a weed whacker, but relatively speaking, it still represented a vast improvement, even taking into account the weird patches of hair he missed and the trickle of blood now running down his chin.

 _I know they say girls like dangerous guys. I hope this counts. Because damn it, shaving left handed is very dangerous, indeed._

The next morning, after a valiant half hour struggle with his polo shirt that, at one point, involved a very humiliating shout for help and an incredibly undignified four minutes of Phil trying to free his son's head from the tangled mess of hunter green cotton mesh, Adam was finally dressed and ready for school. With one last glance in the mirror before making his way downstairs and out the door to the warm Mercedes waiting in the driveway, he was pleased to note that his reflection looked quite normal. Far more normal than actually he felt.

"You uh, you look nice, son." His dad awkwardly offered as he stared into the rearview mirror, slowly backing out of the long driveway.

"Thanks."

"I umm, hope you have a good day at school today. I talked everything over with your teachers, so you won't have to worry about homework or anything."

"Okay"

"And you won't have to worry about carrying your books, because I've got that taken care of. You probably won't really need them for awhile, anyway, since Dr. Mueller doesn't think you need to overdo it…"

 _Ah yes, school without books, homework, or thinking. Sounds like a productive use of time, Dr. Mueller._

"Okay"

"If you get to feeling too bad, just call the house. God knows your mom and Scott won't be going anywhere. Fucking dipshits."

"Alright"

"Well, uh, if you need anything or anything, you can always call my office."

"Okay"

And with that, Phil went back to focusing on his seventh cigarette of the morning, while Adam stared sullenly out the window at the midcentury ranches and 70's split levels lining the streets near the school.

 _I'll probably grow up to live in a house like that now._

 _Fuck me._

.

As soon as he arrived back at Eden Hall, he was greeted by Julie waiting for him at the student drop-off. Taking in her charcoal peacoat and brilliant white smile, it was hard to remain sullen. He practically jumped out of the black car, thrilled at both the prospect of a few minutes with Julie before class, and at getting a break from the stifling second hand smoke that his father seemed to specialize in creating. The man was a nicotine fiend under the best of circumstances, but with the stress of the last week, his addiction had reached such levels that Adam was pretty sure the Mercedes needed to be classified as a Superfund site.

"Julie!"

"Adam! Oh my gosh, school hasn't been the same without you! How are you feeling?" Julie gushed, her green eyes beaming with excitement that not only was he back, but that he was back in all of his impeccably groomed, Ralph Lauren wearing glory. She did feel a little silly for making such a big deal over someone she'd just talked to on the phone the night before, but she couldn't help it. Talking on the phone had not been an adequate substitute for basking in his perfect smile or the safe feeling his muscular arms wrapped around her waist.

 _Come on, Einstein. Get it together. It's only been ten hours; I don't think a lot's changed since you talked to him last!_

"Nothing has been the same without you." He smiled, pulling her into a hug as he tilted his head down slightly to kiss the top of her forehead.

"You know" He added, noticing that she was still barely touching him, seemingly afraid to return his embrace, "contrary to popular rumors, I'm not actually made of glass. You can hug me back."

Looking back up at her favorite starting center, Julie gave an embarrassed smile that made Adam feel like he could melt at any moment.

"I'm sorry" She apologized, "I just didn't want to hurt you. I know you've got to be in enough pain as is."

"I've been playing hockey since I was three. Plus, I've probably got enough Vicodin in my system to handle being trampled by an elephant. As big and scary as you are, I think I can handle your hugs."

"Okay, I guess you have a point." She smiled, gently pulling his toned waist in towards her.

"Owww!" He screamed, causing her to jump back in horror. Looking up, she realized that he was laughing mischievously, a huge smile across his face.

"Oh my God, I hate you so much!" She replied, playfully slapping his good arm.

"Ah man, beating up the poor, defenseless injured guy. That's just low. You should feel so guilty!"

"There are no words for how much I hate you!"

"That's because you don't. You love me. You think I'm awesome. You want to marry me and be with me for forever!"

 _I mean, I kind of do, actually._

"What I want to do is kill you for being a horrible person!"

"But that would definitely involve hurting me, and I think we just established that you don't want to do that! Well, I mean, other than the fact that you viciously attacked me for no reason."

"I didn't want to hurt you _before_ we established that you're evil!" She laughed, gently running her fingers through his clean, sandy hair. "Now that I know how horrible you are, I have no qualms about anything!"

"Well, you killing me would still technically involve spending my last moments with you, and if I'm with you, I'll die a happy man."

Once again, he squeezed her in as tightly as he could considering that he had a giant, plaster covered arm in the way, and planted a quick kiss on her soft lips, completely undeterred by the fact that they were not only in public, but within sight of other parents dropping their freshmen off. For a long moment, she kept her arms wrapped tightly around him as well, reveling in finally being able to hold her best friend again.

Together, they walked hand in hand towards the main academic building, the chilly late February wind blowing through their hair and nipping at their noses. As they made their way across the snowy campus, Julie's hand periodically squeezed his as she thought about how things really had not been the same without a certain delightful preppy to pass notes to in chemistry or to steal hugs from in the hallway. Over the course of the past week, as her immediate concerns about his wellbeing had started to fade, they'd been replaced by an incredible sense of boredom. The excitement of having him around had always distracted her from the stifling monotony of short winter days and long hours of homework at night, and without him around to make her heart flutter, the sheer drudgery of Minnesota winter had started to sink in. Now that he was back, things suddenly seemed much sunnier.


	15. Ghosts and Other Gossip

…

By the middle of first period homeroom, it was already dawning on Adam that his weeklong absence had turned him into something of an Eden Hall celebrity, albeit of the lamest possible variety. As he'd walked down the hall to class, it was hard not to notice the stares and muffled whispers, and he couldn't quite decide what to make of the fact that people he'd never before spoken to were now welcoming him back and asking him how he felt. Even the curmudgeonly Mrs. Tomlinson seemed rather happy to have him back, and true to his dad's word, she did not make a single mention of making up the homework or needing to catch up on the week's notes.

However, it wasn't until the beginning of second period that he came to truly appreciate the absurdity of the high school rumor mill.

"So…you don't have to answer this if you don't want to and all, because I know it's kind of personal, but I have like, a serious question for you." A short blonde cheerleader named Brittany asked, cornering him at his desk before the second period bell.

Looking up at Brittany's slightly round face, painted with an earnestness that was unusual for the perky cheerleader, Adam politely nodded, hoping that whatever she was about to ask wouldn't be too awkwardly invasive.

"Yes?"

"What was it like to like, die and then come back to life like, three days later? Was it like, scary, or was it peaceful?"

 _I see that a decade of private schools has really paid off here…_

"Well, I didn't die, so I wouldn't really know." He calmly explained, doing his best to keep a straight face in spite of the absurdity of the situation.

"Are you sure?"

 _Not really. I'm open to the possibility that I'm in hell right now, and that's why I'm having this stupid conversation._

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I didn't die."

"Oh my God, Tricia is such a dumbass! She totally said you died! I can't believe this!"

 _Yes, yes Tricia is a dumbass. That's why you two are friends._

As the tardy bell rang, he buried his still pounding head against the cool wooden desk, trying his best to drown out the whispered conversation now going on at the opposite end of the room between Brittany and Erica over whether he was lying about not being dead. There had been many days where he had considered the random assortment of students and the correspondingly slower pace of U.S. Government a welcome reprieve from the gauntlet of honors classes that made up so much of his day, but listening to Brittany and Erica argue about whether he was _maybe_ a ghost, he found himself counting down the seconds until Advanced Algebra II. He didn't particularly care for every person in Algebra II, nor were they all necessarily what one would consider Minnesota's best and brightest, but he was at least confident that none of them would openly debate whether or not he was a ghost.

"I'm just saying, I don't think ghosts have to tell you they're ghosts."

"Yeah, but like, if you're a ghost, why would you deny it?"

"I don't know, I've never been a ghost. Go ask him!"

"But he's saying he's not a ghost…"

Mercifully, Mr. Edwards eventually put a temporary end to the ghost discussion, and for the next forty minutes, the class listened to him drone on about the functions of congress, Brittany and Erica occasionally turning around in their seats to steal a glimpse of the possible apparition sitting four seats away with his head down on his desk.

.

Algebra was indeed far more subdued, the math nerds primarily concerned about their recent test grades and future Harvard applications, rather than the more colorful underbelly of Eden Hall gossip. No doubt, there was likely some quiet handwringing about his being exempt from Monday's GPA sinking test, but unlike second period, nobody ever poked him to see if he was real.

Finally, after three hours of awkward well wishes, being poked by cheerleaders, and personally irrelevant discussions about whether the test needed to be curved, it was time for the best part of the day: Julie.

"So, how does it feel to be back from the dead?" Julie asked smiling as she sat down next him in chemistry.

"So you knew all about my tragic death, and you didn't think to tell me?"

"I didn't want to ruin the surprise."

"Erica Tate and Brittany Laws actually took turns poking me in the hallway to see if I was a ghost. Erica wasn't exactly gentle, either—apparently she doesn't think ghosts feel pain!"

"Well, do they?" Julie giggled, somewhat amused by her overly serious boyfriend's frustration.

"I don't know, because I'm _not a ghost_!"

"You are kind of pale…"

"I'm always this color!"

"That's what all ghosts say!"

Delighted to have a certain lab partner back, half way through the class, Julie passed him a carefully folded note. Opening it, he saw a cartoon drawing of a ghost with "Don't worry, I think you're cuter than Casper" written below in Julie's neat, round handwriting.

.

By and large, the rest of the day was uneventful. Brittany and Erica eventually spread the word amongst their fellow airheads that he was neither dead nor a ghost, and by sixth period, Tricia Micek had moved on gossiping about how Brittany was _totally_ pregnant with Coolio's baby. Lunch with the Ducks consisted of lots of uncomfortable one and two word answers about how he was doing and how long he'd be out, but no more talkative than Adam usually was, most of them thought nothing of it. They had all experienced his friendly, gregarious moments, but those moments had always been rare, and had only become rarer since the whole Varsity fiasco.

"You doing okay?" Fulton privately asked him in the hall after lunch, his bushy dark eyebrows knitted with concern.

"Oh yeah, of course."

"You mean it?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little tired and everything." Adam answered in the same polite, slightly unconvincing tone that tended to accompany so much of his speech.

"Well uh, you know, I'm here if you ever want to talk or anything."

"Thanks man"

"Anytime"

That afternoon, as the rest of the Ducks went to hockey practice, Adam went home and laid down, happy to be reunited with his crisp pima cotton sheets. In the next room, he could hear his brother on the phone arguing about child support payments, and downstairs, he could hear the maid clattering around in the kitchen, trying to prepare something that would bear at least a vague semblance to dinner.

.

The next day crept by largely without event. Much to his relief, the gossip mill had moved onto debating whether Brittany was pregnant, and if so, whether it was really Coolio's baby, and if it _was_ Coolio's baby, what kind of hair it would have. The Ducks, meanwhile, had turned their attention to that evening's game against St. Louis Park, which, for better or worse, meant that he'd largely been forgotten.

By the time the 6 P.M. game rolled around, Adam hardly felt like getting back out in the dreary sleet, nor was he particularly eager to watch the sport that he would never be able to play again, but alas, his sense of obligation was even stronger than the love affair he'd developed with his bed, so he dutifully struggled his way into a red polo and nice loafers, and had his mom drop him off at the Eden Hall arena, trying his best to hide the fact that he would rather be almost anywhere else. Once there, he found some acquaintances from the previous year's dreadfully dull cotillion classes, and did his best to distract himself from the pain in his arm and the pounding in his head by joining in an unremarkable conversation about whether the young upstart Tiger Woods would make the Master's cut.

"I just don't know how I feel about him." Thad Coker remarked. "I really don't think he has enough experience."

"Yeah, I mean, he's good, but he's no Nick Faldo." Crawford Wellesley agreed.

"No, he's definitely no Nick Faldo."

"Plus, I think he's a little showy."

"Yeah, he's definitely a little showy.

"Personally, I'm still crossing my fingers Arnold Palmer will pull off a miraculous win."

"Yeah, I'm with you on that."

"We need more guys like him."

"We really do."

The conversation continued on for nearly an hour, Adam hoping that his conversations about hockey in the past hadn't been that mind numbingly dull for everyone unfortunate enough to be stuck in his vicinity.

 _I wish Arnold Palmer would come beat me over the head with a golf club right now so that I could get a break from this discussion._

Meanwhile, as for the game itself, by the middle of the first period, it was already clear that they were not going to be watching JV's finest hour. Defensively, Julie was as solid as ever, and Fulton and Portman were doing a decent job of keeping the Orioles in check. Offensively, however, the JV Warrior/Ducks were a bit lacking in Duck magic, Charlie's inconsistent playing and tendency to showboat rearing its ugly head.

 _Of course. That idiot gets to keep playing, while my career is over._

 _Asshole._

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Adam felt overwhelmed by guilt for thinking such a thing, but he couldn't help it. His situation just felt too unfair, and it was hard not to be a little bitter as he watched his friend hog the puck and miss easy shot after easy shot.

"My dad went to Augusta last year. I'm hoping he'll let me go with him this year."

"You know he's not going to."

"Yeah, he always says it's too close to finals."

"Finals should suck it."

"Yeah they should!"

"I don't know why he wouldn't let me go last year. Eighth grade grades don't count for shit."

"Yeah, last year, he probably just made up the excuse about finals because he was too cheap to take you."

"Probably. Cheap bastard."

Early in the second period, Charlie drew a penalty for interference. As he sat in the penalty box, annoyed at what he considered an unfair call, he looked up into the stands and noticed that Adam seemed to be paying more attention to Crawford Wellesley and his cronies than to the game itself. Looking at Adam laughing along with the gaggle of preppy clones in their matching polo shirts and identical stupid haircuts, Charlie felt his blood boil even hotter than it already was.

 _Cake eating pricks._

It wasn't that Crawford et. al were openly horrible assholes like Brian McGill, Reid Larson, or Rick Riley. No, they didn't have to say or do anything at all, and that was what almost made them worse. Their mere existence was a constant reminder to Charlie of all that he would never have and never be—the way that, no matter how little effort they put in, and how mediocre they were, the world would always just fall effortlessly into their laps. At least guys like Riley had something to prove. They might have had a little more than guys like Crawford and Thad, but they did _something_ to earn it. Usually something horrible, but _something_. Guys like Crawford just seemed to roll out of bed and land in a world of decent grades and reasonably hot girlfriends, zero effort required.

 _I guess Adam's one of them now. Figures._

 _He's already got the nice girlfriend he didn't have to ask out, and the grades he doesn't have to earn. I'm sure any day now, his dad will buy him the requisite Ford Explorer, and the cycle will be complete._

 _Shit, I bet he'll decide he doesn't even want to play hockey anymore, and he can just go on his merry way with them, hanging out at the country club all afternoon and drinking those stupid lemonades with a sprig of mint that cost more than my mom makes in an hour, while they all talk about golf or who has the biggest dick._

.

After the game, Adam took full advantage of the fact that his mom had little concept of time, and rather than immediately call her for a ride home, he decided to walk back to the dorm with Julie. Tired or not, after nearly three hours of pretending to care about golf and whether Thad's dad was finally going to buy a lake house, he was _really_ eager for a few minutes with a certain goalie.

"Are you sure you feel up to walking all the way across campus in this weather? It's a kind of long walk, and this weather is awful." Julie asked, her soft green eyes filled with concern.

"Come on, it's perfect weather for a duck!" He laughed, "Besides, you didn't bring an umbrella, and I can't let you walk all that way without one."

"Your sense of chivalry truly is unstoppable, isn't it?"

"Well, for the moment, I'm a gimpy loser with a scrambled brain. I've kind of got to work with what I've got, and right now, all I've got is a nice big umbrella!"

"Ah yes, I'm sure you have a very impressive _umbrella_ "

As Adam's face suddenly turned an interesting shade of magenta, Julie buried her head into his good shoulder, laughing entirely too hard to catch her breath.

"I'm so sorry!" She apologized into the hunter green coat, still laughing.

"Well, it is black, so make that of it what you will." He smiled, still a very un-ghostly shade of pink.

"That sounds like something you should get checked out by a doctor."

"Yeah, probably" He conceded, realizing that his joke had definitely not come out how he'd intended for it to.

Before long, they were slowly walking across the dark, drizzly campus hand in hand, both huddled tightly together under the refuge of the large black umbrella as the wind howled through the bare trees. By the time they could make out the warm yellow lights of the girls' dorm, Adam's lungs felt like they were on fire, and he was starting to feel like Julie's initial concerns might have been well founded. However, after several days in a row of having to rely on his parents to help him get dressed, his fragile 15 year old sense of machismo was worn thin enough that there was no way he was going to let Julie know she was right.

 _You are not going to collapse and die right here. You are not going to collapse and die right here. You are not going to collapse and die right here._

 _Even if doing so would feel really, REALLY good right now._

"Are you okay?" Julie worriedly asked, looking up at Adam, a deep set of vertical worry lines forming a small street that ran from the bridge of her nose to the bottom of her forehead. Finally in the light of the dorm's back stairway, she could see that her boyfriend was even paler than usual, and quite exhausted looking.

"Ah, I'm fine!" He warmly reassured her, squeezing her into a tight hug as he gently kissed her.

"Well, how about we go upstairs and lie down for a bit? You look like you could use the rest."

"Alright" He smiled, softly running his hand down her silky hair until it came to rest at the small of her waist.

Once they had made their way up the two flights of stairs to Julie's room, Adam took off his tan loafers and damp coat, and plopped down on Julie's fluffy, flowery comforter, relieved to be back in the warm embrace of a soft bed. Right there in front of him, Julie casually stripped out of her faded jeans and bulky sweatshirt, and walked over to her pajama drawer in only her pale pink panties and bra to dig out a flannel sleep shirt. A part of Adam felt like the polite thing to do would be to look away, but there was no way he could pry his sleepy eyes away from her beautiful figure. Instead, he just drank it all in, blushing profusely when she turned around and met his soft blue eyes.

"Perv" She laughed, ruffling his bangs as she held the flannel nightshirt over her chest and exposed stomach.

"Maybe"

Slowly, she slipped into her pajamas and climbed into the twin sized bed next to him. A few awkward moments were spent trying to get situated, the bed hardly large enough for the two of them under the best of circumstances, much less now that one half of the pair could only lay on his back. Still, before long, they were curled up snuggly together under the warm blanket, Julie's arm draped lightly over his chest. Between his exhaustion and the safe, cozy feeling of being in Julie's arms, Adam fell asleep almost instantly, a lazy smile on his lips the entire time. For a few minutes, Julie just laid there, thinking about the cute boy next to her, until she too slowly drifted off to sleep to the sound of the sleet outside pelting against the window.

…


	16. An Unintentional Slumber Party

…

"NOOOO! NOOOO!"

Julie had been sound asleep when her pleasant dreams were suddenly pierced by terrified screams and violent thrashing from the boy next her. Startled, she jumped out of bed and flicked on the light switch, the sudden artificial brightness temporarily searing her retinas. Once her eyes had adjusted to the light, she looked over and saw that in the bed opposite, Connie was now wide awake and staring over at the normally calm forward, sharing her look of concern and confusion.

"I think he's asleep." Connie finally whispered after a second, unsure of what else to say.

"Yeah, I think you're right."

For another second, the girls just continued staring at him in silence, unsure of what to do. He was tossing and turning so violently that there was no real way to approach him, and turning on the lights had done nothing to interrupt whatever horrible dream was haunting his sleep.

Finally, in a desperate bid to wake him up before he attracted the attention of the entire dorm (including the thankfully hard of hearing dorm mother), Julie picked up a hockey stick and started poking at him. First she gently nudged to no avail, until her frantic jabs grew harder and harder. Finally, after a rather solid whack to the side of his hip, the terrified screams of his sleep were replaced by a very short yelp of pain, followed by a look of utter confusion.

Blinking a few times, Adam finally sat up, scratching his rumpled sandy hair as his deep blue eyes looked down at the wadded up floral comforter beside him.

"I had another dream, didn't I?" He asked, his face and ears turning magenta as he absently rubbed his now sore hip. He remembered the dream itself all too well, but the idea that he had done anything in his sleep that would elicit such a reaction from everyone else had him mortified.

"Are you okay?" Julie asked gently, sitting down beside him. Putting a delicate arm around his waist, she began softly stroking her hand up and down across his back, easily able to feel the hard, toned muscles below his red polo. "You sounded pretty upset."

"Oh yeah, I'm fine. Are…are you alright? I hope I didn't scare you too much."

"Don't worry about me." She smiled, "From the sounds of things, you were a bit more scared than I was."

He let out a slight, good natured laugh, trying to hide his complete humiliation.

"Oh, it's nothing. I just never quite grew out of the awkward night terror phase. I really am so sorry!"

"It's okay." She smiled, "If it makes you feel any better, my brother was super slow to outgrow the bedwetting phase, and from a purely selfish standpoint, I'd much rather you scream in your sleep than pee in your sleep!"

"Well, what can I say? Even in my sleep, I try to be considerate!"

"And you do a wonderful job!" Julie replied, giving him a reassuring peck on the cheek.

"Well, anyway" He replied, looking over at the alarm clock on Julie's desk, "I uh, probably ought to get going so I can try to sneak back into my room without my parents knowing. I didn't exactly mean to fall asleep like this."

Julie looked at the clock, too, her lips pursed with concern.

"It's 3:00 A.M., Adam! I know we aren't exactly in the projects here, but there is literally no way I'm letting you walk a mile in the freezing rain at this hour!"

Reluctantly, he agreed. After the relatively short walk across campus that had led him to Julie's bed in the first place, he had to concede that he was not in the finest shape of his life. Plus, if his parents _were_ going to kill him, he figured he might as well spend his final night alive snuggled up next to the girl of his dreams.

"Well then, is there any way you'd be willing to share your bed with a guy who at least promises not to pee in his sleep? Or, I can sleep on the floor if you'd rather."

"Don't be silly!" Julie laughed, "Of course we can share the bed! You're a pretty great cuddle partner when you aren't kicking and screaming."

"Besides" She added with a mischievous smirk, "I have my hockey stick handy in case you get out of hand again!"

"And you worry about me walking home at this hour? I think the real danger here is you, Tonya Harding!"

"Are you sure you're alright?" She asked again, this time eying his hip with concern. "I tried everything to wake you up! I really hope I didn't hurt you too badly."

"Hah, I was kidding!" He reassured her, pulling her in tightly against him. "I am definitely fine! Besides, if the occasional bruise is the price I have to pay for cuddling with you, you can attack me with a hockey stick any time you want!"

"I'll keep that in mind for future reference."

"God, I always heard cats were viscous!"

Playfully, Julie slapped his arm before looking down at his shirt and jeans.

"That can't be comfortable to sleep in. I would offer you a something more comfortable, but I'm pretty sure nothing of mine will fit. You're more than welcome to take off your pants and shirt, though."

"Oh, no." He replied, "I wouldn't want to make anyone uncomfortable. They really aren't bad, anyway."

"Come on, sleeping in jeans and a polo can't be fun! Besides, I certainly wouldn't be uncomfortable. Would you, Connie?"

"Nope!" Connie agreed, a tad too enthusiastically, "We would definitely neither one be uncomfortable _at all_!"

"Hey now!" Adam laughed, once again turning a color not dissimilar to that of his shirt.

"What? I just meant that we're both very comfortable around a respectful gentleman like yourself."

"Also, you are kind of hot." Connie added a second later, laughing as the slap happiness of 3 A.M. clogged her brain's normally decent filter.

With that, Julie threw a floral print pillow at her overly honest roommate.

"Perv!"

"You're the one who told him to take his clothes off!"

"So he could be _comfortable_!"

"Uh huh. ' _Comfortable'_. That's what I was thinking about, too!"

Looking over at Adam, the two girls realized that his face had somehow grown even redder, and he was starting to look like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

"Oh my gosh, we're sorry, Adam." Connie offered, trying to stifle her laughter. "I promise, we were just kidding around. We are not actually total pervs."

"It's okay." He reassured her. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't think any guys at this school would object to you taking your clothes off, either."

He thought about adding " _I know I wouldn't_ ", but thought better of it. After all, he was a gentleman. Also, they had hockey sticks, and as he'd just been reminded, they clearly knew how to use them.

.

Before long, Adam had indeed stripped down to only his blue and white striped boxers, and this time, it was Julie's turn to admire the sight in front of her as she thought some slightly impure thoughts about his hockey toned body. Taking in his perfectly defined chest and chiseled six pack abs, there was no denying that a lifetime of 5 A.M. workouts had produced some very aesthetically pleasing benefits.

 _Things have DEFINITELY improved since we were 13! And I thought he was hot then…_

Once again, they settled into the same comfortable position—him on his back, her on her side with one arm draped over his hard bare chest, and they quietly went back to sleep, the painful, recurring nightmares all a distant memory as he reveled in the warm, happy feeling of being next to the girl he loved.

.

The next day at school went by relatively uneventfully, with the exception of lunch. As Charlie walked over to the Ducks' table, Adam could instantly tell from the captain's body language that everyone was going to be in for a very long 30 minutes. He didn't yet know who or what had set his moody friend off, but that didn't much matter. The roller coaster of puberty had hit Charlie exceptionally hard, and it wasn't important what pulled the lever on a given day, once that roller coaster was barreling down the track, everyone else was going to be pulled along with it.

"Have fun at the game last night?" Charlie asked Adam tersely, practically pouting as he stabbed at the rubbery, congealed pork chop on his tray.

 _What in the hell?_

"I guess? I mean, it was fine."

"It looked like you had a really great time with your new friends."

 _Really? THIS is what he's mad about?_

"Well, yeah, since I wasn't playing, I had to sit somewhere."

"You could have sat by the bench, you know."

 _Yes Charlie, I was dying to pay rapt attention to you sucking. After all, there is nothing I love more in this world than watching you make a mockery of the sport that I can't even play anymore._

"I'll try to next time. I just ran into those guys, and Thad wanted me to sit with them, so I figured I might as well be polite. I hadn't talked to any of them in awhile."

"Gee, it's awfully nice of you to be so polite."

"Yeah, actually, most people _do_ consider being polite a good thing, believe it not."

"Whatever, Thad's a choad."

For the most part, the rest of the Ducks chose to ignore the conversation going on at the end of the table, more than content to stay out of the melodrama brewing between their captain and their former star player. The exception was Portman, who felt the need to weigh in on the opinion that yes, Thad was a choad.

"Seriously, those douches fucking suck. Hanging out with us has got to be better than hanging out with them."

' _No argument' to point number one. 'Hard to say' on point number two._

Adam thought about pointing out to Charlie that he was acting like a stereotypical jealous girlfriend, but thought better of it. The shaggy haired brunette's dumpster fire of adolescent emotion seemed to be burning hot enough without anyone needlessly throwing gasoline on it.

Besides, when it came to misdirected anger, Adam knew he had a much bigger problem on his hands, and that problem was going to be waiting for him after school. The thought of dealing with an angry Phil was enough to make Charlie's snide comments seem downright delightful, and as he watched his friend continue to stab violently at a rubbery porkchop, he couldn't help but empathize with the poor piece of meat.

" _Come on, Scottie,"_ He thought to himself as he watched the clock tick by all too quickly during seventh period _"If ever there was a time to distract Dad, this is it! Go! Rob a liquor store! Sell drugs to some first graders! Steal a tank and then use the tank to rob a liquor store! I don't care! Just follow your illegal dreams, and follow them within the next twenty minutes!_ "

As the hands on the clock ticked closer and closer to 2:45, Adam's dread grew until he'd resumed his old game day routine of incessant leg shaking and fingernail chewing. By 2:38, his pinkie and ring finger were starting to bleed, and even Mr. Olmstead was watching the clock with anticipation, ready to finally be freed from the mini-earthquake that had been created within the room. Scolding such a well behaved but high strung student seemed both harsh and potentially counter productive, but Mr. Olmstead was starting to think that if the Magic Fingers ride the classroom floor had turned into didn't end soon, he was going to be motion sick.

Finally, 2:45 rolled around. While the rest of the class breathed a sigh of relief, Adam took his sweet time putting away his unused pencil and notebook. Without textbooks or homework assignments, he actually had frustratingly little to gather, but that was not going to stop him from dawdling for as long as humanly possible. He carefully shut his notebook, tucked it neatly in his backpack, opened the smaller zippered pocket to find _just the right spot_ for his pencil, went to his locker, checked his hair, went to the restroom, readjusted his jacket five or six times, and made small talk with every casual acquaintance he saw in the hall. Never mind that he normally made the Unibomber look like an outgoing fellow by comparison, the prospect of dealing with his dad had turned him into the kind of guy who was absolutely dying to discuss mundane weekend plans with C-list JV football players.

.

"You care to tell me where you were last night?"

Three hours earlier, when Adam had been greeted by his mother's hunter green Volvo in the school pick-up lane, he'd breathed a sigh of relief. While the unkempt, glassy eyed blonde was hardly his favorite person in the world, she did have the distinct advantage of _not_ being an overweight real-estate developer with anger management issues. Her presence, and the fact that she'd made no mention of the previous night, gave him hope that something else had diverted his dad's attention. Those hopes were quickly dashed, however, the minute his father walked through the door.

"I was visiting with a friend in his dorm for a few minutes after the game, and I got to feeling bad, so I laid down to rest my eyes for a minute, and ended up falling asleep."

"And which friend was this?"

"Crawford. It wasn't any big deal."

"You mean to tell me you just shut your eyes for a second, and you ended up sleeping the entire night in Crawford's room?"

"Yeah. As I said, I _didn't feel good_."

"And nobody ever woke you up?"

"Nah, I guess they thought I needed my rest."

With that, Phil's relative calm came to an abrupt end, the bulging veins in his wrinkled forehead growing more pronounced by the millisecond.

"Do I look like a damned idiot? Quit fucking lying to me!"

"I'm not fucking lying! In case you hadn't noticed, I haven't exactly felt great for the past week or so. I'll give you a couple of guesses as to why!"

As soon as the words left his mouth, Adam knew he'd dug his own grave. Still, at this point, he didn't really care.

 _Go ahead. Kill me. You've already taken everything I ever cared about._

"Fucking ungrateful piece of shit!" Phil responded, backhanding his son across the face so hard that the normally solid hockey player momentarily struggled to keep his balance, searing pain immediately shooting through his cheek and jaw.

Quickly, Adam regained his balance, and in a flash of absolute fury, landed a surprisingly solid punch against his father's nose before storming past him, heading towards his bedroom.

"Go back to the factory where you _belong_ , asshole!" Adam sneered, turning around to get one last glimpse at his bleeding father. His face and hand were now both stinging, but the discomfort paled next to the satisfaction of seeing his father's shocked expression and bloodied face.

Still in shock at what had just unfolded, Phil went to fetch himself a washcloth, and then headed downstairs to pour himself a very large glass of whiskey. Adam, meanwhile, retreated back to the comfort of his bedroom. Walking over to the attached bath, he examined his red cheek in the mirror for a second before concluding ice wouldn't be necessary. Feeling strangely pleased with himself, he then went and curled up in bed with his secret guilty pleasure: a copy of _The Wall Street Journal_.

.

For the rest of the weekend, father and son kept their distance from one another. Adam once again laid claim to the upstairs seating area, and spent most of the next two days sprawled across the sofa, forever flipping through the channels in a futile attempt to forget about the less pleasant aspects of his life. Phil, meanwhile, spent the rest of Friday night and Saturday locked away in his downstairs office, where he subsisted almost entirely on unfiltered Camels and whiskey, coming out only occasionally to grab something from the refrigerator or to yell at Scott.

.

Sunday morning, when everyone else seemed too distracted with their own happenings (or lack thereof) Phil quietly shaved, put on a clean pair of dress pants and a button down, grabbed his coat, and headed out to his car. Starting the engine, he slowly backed out of the driveway, and drove for the next hour. He drove through suburb after suburb, until the tasteful Federalist Revivals gave way to garish McMansions, which then eventually gave way to crumbling trailer parks and dumpy strip centers.

Finally, he found what he was looking for. An aging, single story shopping mall in a decrepit outer ring suburb where nobody would ever know who he was. Parking between a rusted Chevy Nova and a Ford Aerostar with peeling paint and a missing front bumper, he got out, locked his Mercedes, and walked on into the dated shopping center that had clearly not seen a fresh coat of paint since the mid-70's.

Zeroing in on the store directory, he quickly found exactly what he was looking for.

 _Walden Books. B-6_


	17. The World Marches On

…..

Walking through the burnt orange and harvest gold corridors of the aging mall, Phil quickly remembered why he was paying the premium to live in the suburb that he did. Looking around at the fake plastic ferns coated with dust and the mulleted families in stirrup pants and floral windbreakers, he felt like he was back in Flint. He half wanted to turn right back around and leave, afraid that the poverty would recognize him as one of its own, and drag him back to the world of Dacron and American made cars held together with duct tape. As he passed the noisy arcade filled with unwashed pre-teens in baggy No Fear T-shirts and a pet store with a mangy looking white poodle in the window, he pulled his tan Ralph Lauren jacket in tighter, subconsciously trying to create a barrier between himself and the working class suburbia all around him.

Finally, past the wood paneled store fronts of Camelot Music, Radio Shack, and Gadzooks, he found what he was looking for. Waldenbooks. He grabbed a cigarette from his jacket pocket, pulled out his silver monogrammed Zippo, and began browsing the store in search of the parenting section. Happening upon an aisle filled with pastel pink and baby blue tomes on childcare, he knew he'd found what he was looking for. Taking a long drag off his unfiltered Camel, he stood there in the middle of the cramped row of bookshelves, slowly perusing the titles.

 _What To Expect When You're Expecting?_

 _A baby. That's what to expect. Every damn time. If you need a book to tell you that, that's probably why you live in this shithole._

 _The Ultimate Guide to Potty Training?_

 _I should get this for Scott. Fucker's always peeing on something when he's drunk._

 _Pretty sure he's potty trained, though. He just prefers my desk. Because he's an ungrateful asshole._

Between the claustrophobic narrowness of the aisle and the abundance of pastels, Phil felt acutely aware of the fact that he was both 56 years old and a _man_. From the titles around him, it was clear that those two things knocked him out of the primary demographic this particular section of the store. Making matters worse, despite the wide selection, none of the books appeared relevant to his needs.

 _Dr. Spock's Complete Guide to Baby and Child Care? 300 Rainy Day Activities for Pre-Schoolers? Toddlers Without Tears? The Joy of Motherhood?_

 _What the fuck? Bunny never read any of this shit. I bet that's why I'm stuck looking through this crap now. If she would have just raised better kids, I wouldn't need any stupid books on parenting._

 _Dumb bitch._

Thirty minutes, two cigarettes, and one pimply faced employee pointing to a No Smoking sign later, Phil finally gave up on his search for parenting advice and stormed back out to his Mercedes. The solution to his problems was not going to be found in any pastel colored book about motherhood, nor in any white trash mall.

 _._

Sitting in traffic as a Rolling Stones song played on the oldies station, Phil was lost in thought, filled with frustration that Waldenbooks had not solved his dilemma. Just as he lit yet another cigarette, his other hand drumming at the steering wheel impatiently, he looked out the window at the sea of cars slowly inching along the interstate. There, in his rolling cocoon of luxury steel, sandwiched between other rolling chunks of steel, inspiration hit.

Sure, he couldn't turn back time and magically _not_ push his son down the stairs, but he could do the next best thing.

.

Adam, meanwhile, spent his Sunday deeply and profoundly bored. He'd tried calling Julie, but she was too busy studying for a test to want to talk. He'd flipped through all 157 channels of premium cable, but there was nothing worth watching. He started to read one of the books on his mother's bookshelf, but he couldn't make it through more than a page without making the lingering pounding in his head worse. He tried calling Larson, but like Julie, the strawberry blonde with a chronic sinus infection and an unfortunate penchant for Magic: The Gathering was busy doing homework. Eventually, he settled for watching infomercials with Scott, the two of them spending the afternoon making fun of the frustrated looking actors who couldn't seem to get the hang of blankets or phone cords.

…..

"Hey, Adam, come down here! I've got a little surprise for you." His father shouted from the foyer, a strange sense of excitement in his voice.

It was Monday afternoon, and up until that moment, Adam had been sitting on the couch, mindlessly watching an episode of MTV's _Real World_ as he gorged himself on Cheetos. Without anything to stay in shape for, he'd come to realize that processed artificial cheese flavoring was an underrated food group, and as such, had done all he could to make up for his nutritional deficiencies in that area. Half way through the bag of X's and O's Cheeto Puffs, his sweatpants and white undershirt were coated in a thick layer of orange dust, and he didn't particularly want his father to see him in his sad and cheesy state. Hurriedly, he tried to brush himself off, but in doing so, only made the situation worse. He started to head to his room to grab a jacket, but before he could make it that far, his father once again shouted up the stairs with a palpable eagerness.

"Come on, I really think you'll like this!"

" _Should I be worried?"_ Adam thought to himself, trying unsuccessfully to think of the last time he'd ever heard his father so excited.

"Yeah Dad?"

Phillip patiently waited until his son was down at the landing of the foyer, then gently clasped him by his good shoulder and led him towards the front door, politely ignoring the Cheeto dust.

"Well son, I've been thinking. You've seemed a little down lately…"

 _Gee, I wonder why?_

"And uh, well, you've got a birthday coming up in a couple weeks."

Suddenly, Adam had a pretty good idea of where the conversation was going. Thanks to his dad's concern about a spring birthday making him one of the younger kids for sports, he'd started kindergarten a year late. This meant that even though he was only a freshman, as of March 11, he would be 16. However, even with his birthday quickly approaching, he'd given the whole thing little thought. His entire world more or less existed within a mile of his parents' house—he failed to see how getting his mom's Volvo was really going to make much difference in his dull life.

 _Did Dad act this excited about handing over the Saab to Scott?_

Together, the two walked out the door and down the front steps to the driveway, Phil's large hand still enveloping the top of his son's toned shoulder. The sun was beaming, but the wind was fierce, and Adam instantly regretted not grabbing a jacket and shoes. Even just for walking to the driveway, his thin, Cheeto streaked undershirt was no match for the harsh Minnesota wind, and his fuzzy wool socks provided frustratingly little protection against the sharp cold and the jagged edges of the decorative cobblestones beneath his feet.

Suddenly, looking around the corner towards the garage, Adam's heart sank. There, in a scene ripped straight from the car commercials that played every Christmas, sat a brand new, bright red Porsche 911, topped with a massive white bow, gleaming under the golden afternoon sun.

 _Oh shit._

It was every poor kid's fantasy come to life.

It was also the absolute furthest thing from what Adam wanted.

Admittedly, the Volvo had hardly been his dream car—he was well aware that there was nothing quite like a safe, boring Volvo to reaffirm his reputation as The Least Interesting Man in Minnesota—but it was, fundamentally, _normal_. Pretty much everyone at Eden Hall got something similar. Other than the occasional Camaro from a parent nostalgic for their own glory days, almost everyone got a nice but sensible hand me down car from Mom, which meant that the student parking lot was filled with lightly used Volvos, Jeep Grand Cherokees, and Ford Explorers.

One thing the parking lot was _not_ filled with was Porsches. And if Adam had learned anything during his time on varsity, it was that sticking out was to be avoided at all costs.

 _Oh shit shit shit shit._

"I thought you could use a little cheering up."

 _THIS is your idea of cheering me up? Did you seriously think my biggest problem in life was NOT HAVING A FUCKING PORSCHE?!_

"Thanks Dad. It's very…bright."

"I can take it back for a different color, if you want. I told the salesman I wasn't sure what color you'd like."

Adam felt like he'd swallowed a whole quarry of rocks, and that they were all sinking down in the pit of his stomach. The fact that his dad could possibly think that a Porsche would make anything better had him wanting to punch the older man's stupid face all over again, and he was already overcome with a deep sense of dread when he imagined the social fallout of such a flashy car.

And yet, he could tell from the pleased expression on his dad's face, and the slight tinge of worry in his excited voice that he meant well. As much as he would have preferred an apology, or perhaps an "I love you, son", he knew those things would never happen. The lavish new car wasPhil's way of saying the words he didn't feel comfortable verbalizing.

Quickly, Adam sucked the massive rocks further down, plastered on a polite smile and shook his head.

"No Dad, it's great. I mean, it's a bit much—I figured I'd just get Mom's Volvo or something, but it's awesome. Thank you."

…

The remainder of the week dragged by slowly. Whereas for his first several days back at school, Adam had been a minor celebrity, by Tuesday, everyone had gone back to their normal routines. Even Julie's giddiness at having him back had slowly been dampened by the endless drudgery of responsibility, and her focus once again shifted back to schoolwork and hockey. For her, chemistry was spent trying to keep up with the fast paced lectures, and lunch was frequently spent in the library, buried under a mountain of homework. He understood—after all, that used to be his life as well, but now it was a stark reminder that the rest of the world was marching on towards better things, while he was getting left behind to watch infomercials and eat Cheetos. With every lunch period she spent in the library, and every phone call she cut short, he knew he was one step closer to the day she'd replace him with someone who had two good arms and a brain that still worked properly.

.

Thursday brought one of the final JV games of the regular season—an away game against Breck, twelve miles away in Golden Valley.

At least mildly ticked at almost everything about Eden Hall, that afternoon, Adam decided to engage in a bit of petty rebellion. Rather than don the standard warrior red, he threw on a light yellow polo and navy jacket.

Breck colors.

The move felt well justified. After all, he had attended Breck since kindergarten, and he was going to be sitting with the Larsons over on the Breck side. The only reason he went to Eden Hall was for the better hockey team, and if he couldn't play, he might as well wear the colors of the school that he hated the least.

A little after 5, he made the short walk over to the Larsons' house. By the time he'd reached the edge of his own exclusive neighborhood, a part of him was starting to regret turning down Mr. Larson's offer to come pick him up, but he also had to concede that he couldn't very well spend the rest of his life lying on the sofa. His lungs burning and his side aching as the blustery wind nipped at his face, he walked the additional two blocks until he came to the tidy grey split level with the cheery red door. Even though it wasn't quite dusk yet, the porch light was already on, illuminating the dark, cloudy afternoon and giving the house a welcoming glow. Before he'd so much as made it up the front steps, Mrs. Larson was standing at the front door to greet him.

"How is my favorite little guy?" She beamed, wrapping him in a warm hug as soon as he made his way inside. As usual, the house smelled of freshly baked cookies, and looking down at Mrs. Larson's flour caked khakis and yellow gingham apron, he could make a pretty decent guess as to why.

"Little?" He smiled, gently patting the top of the short ginger's head. Without her shoes on, she barely came to the middle of Adam's chest.

"You and Reid will always be my little guys. No matter how tall you insist on getting."

"Well, fortunately Reid doesn't seem to insist on getting very tall!"

"Now now" Mrs. Larson laughed. "I can't help that we don't all come from a family of Amazons like you. From down here, he's very tall, indeed!"

Turning back around, Mrs. Larson headed up the short flight of stairs to the main level of the house, Adam following closely behind. As much as he'd made fun of Larson over the years for living in a "ghetto fucking hobbit house", he'd actually always sort of loved the little home. The beige carpet was a bit worn in places, and Mrs. Larson did have an unfortunate penchant for silk flowers and geese, but the living room was filled with overflowing bookshelves, and the large, overstuffed floral print sofa was far more comfortable than anything in the Banks' house. Plus, there was a certain charm to all of the colorful homemade picture frames containing awkward childhood photos of Reid and Catherine—Adam's "favorite" being the kindergarten class picture where a toothless Reid refused to take off the tattered paper Burger King crown from the family's trip to the fast food establishment three weeks prior.

"How have you been feeling?" Mrs. Larson asked, bringing over a plate of warm cookies as Adam settled in on the couch. The concern was evident in her voice—a fact that Adam found ironic, considering that his own mom had yet to show any hint of worry.

"I'm doing a lot better."

"Well good. You gave me quite a scare—you're like another son to me, and I just hate to see you having to go through something so horrible."

"Ah, it's not too bad." He shrugged, appreciating her concern.

"Well, knowing you, I'm guessing it's quite a bit worse than you're letting on." She smiled gently. "But, I'm at least glad to see that you're slowly feeling better. Now if we could just get you healthy enough to get you back out on the ice where you belong."

As soon as the words left her mouth, Mrs. Larson could tell from the look on Adam's face that she'd said something wrong.

"Are you really okay, sweetie?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." Adam nodded, the sadness in his eyes unmistakable.

Carefully, Mrs. Larson rubbed his good shoulder for a moment, her mind searching in vain to think of the right thing to say. Looking over at his arm held in a polyester sling, a navy blue cast stretching from his hand to above his elbow, she had a pretty good idea of what the problem was, but that didn't inch her any closer towards coming up with the right words.

"You know I'm always here if you need anything, right?"

"I know. Thanks."

"And um, remember, I love you just as much off the ice as I do on it. Either way, you're always be my little Quaker Oatmeal Man."

"I'm really never going to live that one down, am I?" He smiled, pulling the plump preschool teacher into a seated, sideways hug.

"It could be worse. Poor Reid will forever be my little Burger King. Besides, you were a pretty adorable Quaker."

For the next few minutes, the two just sat quietly on the massive plush couch that enveloped them both, slowly nibbling on the plate of cookies as they waited for Catherine to finish fixing her hair, and for Mr. Larson to come home from his job at the university. In the background, a Spice Girls song could be heard coming from the fifth grader's room, and Adam couldn't help but laugh as Mrs. Larson absently found herself quietly singing along with _Wannabe_.


	18. Wondering

"Quack quack, bitch." A nasally voice taunted, the Breck forward's overly pink lips forming a cocky smile that Charlie found almost irresistibly punchable.

As Charlie looked into his opponent's muddy brown eyes, he knew the kid seemed familiar. He was taller, and the voice was deeper, but that smug grin was lodged deep into the recesses of Charlie's brain…even if he couldn't place who exactly it belonged to.

"Go choke on a dick."

"I would, but I can't find yours. Next time, I'll have to bring my microscope."

 _Fuckhead._

As soon as the puck dropped, Charlie gained control and skated towards the blue line, happily bulldozing the strawberry blonde Breck player in the process. By the time his opponent was standing again, Charlie had already managed to out-maneuver much of the Mustangs' slow defense, and a mere 20 seconds into the game, he scored the first goal.

Relieved to see that their inconsistent captain was off to a good start for the night, the sea of red and black in the Eden Hall stands went wild. Back on the Breck side, Adam politely cheered, but inwardly found himself groaning a bit at the overblown spectacle.

 _Come on Charlie, you aren't exactly playing Iceland here._

.

He'd never had any doubt as to what the outcome of the game would be. Breck's hockey program was well run, and by the standards of most places, they were a decent team. However, the reality was that every year, come ninth grade, any kid with means who was seriously considering a future in the sport transferred to either Eden Hall or Shattuck St. Mary's. This left the Breck JV team with a mix of talented but pre-pubescent junior high kids and mediocre ninth graders who were going to be getting into college based on their ACT scores. Even in seventh grade, Adam had been one of the best JV players on their team; as far as he was concerned, scoring on them was about was one step above scoring on The Minnesota School for the Blind.

Charlie, on the other hand, was quite proud of his accomplishment. To him, he hadn't scored on a bunch of 13 year olds and uncoordinated, nose picking asthmatics; he'd scored a tiny victory over the haves of the city.

Over the course of the next two periods, many more tiny victories ensued. Since Breck's defense was made up of a sad collection of overweight ninth graders who Goldberg could outskate, Eden Hall had no difficulty scoring another eight goals. The Breck offensive line was slightly less sad, but they still stood no chance against the bone crushing size of Fulton and Portman, much less Julie's fast glove.

Finally, midway through the third period, with Portman in the penalty box and Fulton on the bench, Larson was able to take advantage of Breck's power play. Maneuvering around Eden Hall's third line offense, he skated behind the net, shot, and, in a moment of good fortune, actually managed to get the puck past Julie. As the black disk sailed in between the pipes, even Larson himself could barely believe what had just happened.

This time it was the Breck fans' turn to go wild. Every blue and yellow clad fan in attendance stood up and cheered…all thirteen of them.

As Adam stood there in the front row cheering on his best friend, there was absolutely no missing him. In the tiny crowd of aging mothers and bored younger siblings, the tall hockey player stuck out like Shaquille O'Neal at a convention for dwarves.

There was also no missing who everyone was cheering for.

It was then that Charlie realized why the trash talking captain seemed so familiar.

 _Once a Hawk, always a Hawk._

.

The Duck captain was used to the fact that Adam rarely talked to him outside of hockey. He was used to his invitations to hang out being politely declined, and his attempts at non-hockey related conversation being shot down. He was used to the fact that Adam was spare with praise, and he was even starting to get used to the fact that Adam was able to move in social circles that would never embrace a kid who's mom worked at a diner.

Still, he liked to think that they were friends. He liked to think that Adam's aloofness was just a side effect of his single-minded dedication to the sport, and not a reflection on their friendship; that underneath the impenetrable wall of pastel shirts and polite one word answers, that Adam did genuinely care about him.

As he watched his former teammate cheer for the kid who'd always gone out of his way to make his already difficult life more miserable, though, he knew that wasn't the case. Shaking his head, he realized Adam never had been his friend, and never would be.

…

"You did a great job out there tonight!" Adam beamed, wrapping Julie in the tightest hug that he could. "Not that you don't always do a great job, of course." He hastily added, his body and mind floating on light fluffy clouds now that he actually had a moment with her.

Looking up at his perfect smile, Julie found herself melting. With midterms rapidly approaching, she'd been so focused on school that she'd almost forgotten how amazing it felt to have his arm around her.

"I'm just excited you came!"

As she pulled him in even tighter, she noticed that his once perfectly toned body was starting to feel a little softer, but she didn't care. He was perfect, and she wished she could abandon all of life's responsibilities and just stay there with her arms around him for forever, never letting go.

"By the way, nice outfit, Benedict Arnold." She added a second later, smiling down at his pastel yellow polo and navy sport coat as she finally eased her tight hold on his waist.

"What can I say? I rode over with my friend's parents, and I didn't want to risk being murdered by them and their fellow Mustang fans."

"That did look like a pretty dangerous crowd…"

"Oh don't be fooled! Those moms are not afraid to strangle a person with their Hermes scarves."

"Ah yes, the mean streets of Edina. I don't know how you've survived, honestly." Julie laughed, standing on his tiptoes to give him a quick kiss. With so many people around, she had to keep their lip lock a bit more chaste than what she really wanted, but his soft lips and warm, minty breath were still a glorious treat.

 _Seriously, how does he always smell so perfect?_

Just as their lips were reluctantly parting, the entire Larson family came around the corner.

"So she is real!"

Looking at Adam, Julie couldn't help but laugh as he suddenly stared down at the floor, the tips of his ears turning pink.

"Reid!" Mrs. Larson scolded, shooting him a warning look as her son who quickly turned pinker than Adam.

Eyeing the two fuchsia preppies in their matching haircuts and perfectly pressed khakis, Julie could see why the two were friends. The sheer level of mutual awkwardness was somewhat incredible, and, in the goalie's humble opinion, rather endearing.

"Nah man, imaginary girlfriends are more your thing."

"They do make for cheap dates."

…

Over the course of the twenty minute bus ride back to Eden Hall, one thing became very obvious to Julie: That there was a wide gulf between the awkward kid she'd just met and the sadistic monster all of the original Minnesota Ducks were talking about. It seemed hard to imagine anything terribly threatening about the forward who's mom could make him blush so easily, but from the unanimous agreement of the entire team, it was clear that this wasn't just a Charlie thing. Even the normally dispassionate Guy was in agreement that Reid Larson was an asshole of the highest order.

.

"I mean, it's not really my business who Adam chooses to be friends with, and like, I get that it's different for him." Connie paused, carefully considering her words as she chewed on the inside of her lip. As she sat on her bed, leaning against the wall, she fluffed the floral print pillow behind her, then continued. "He's known those guys for forever, and Larson probably never really did anything to _him_. But at the same time, if I were him, there's no way I could be friends with a person like that. Because, you know, I get that people can be jerks. I'm sure that most of the guys on our team have probably been jerks to _someone_ before, but Larson and those guys were different. They went _out of their way_ to torment kids who already had way less than them—like, it wasn't enough for them to get everything they wanted. They had to go and do all they could to kick people who were already down."

As they sat in their shared dorm room that night, Julie found herself struggling to make sense of the things she'd heard on the bus. She'd turned to Connie, hoping the Minnesota native could shed a bit of light on the situation—unlike the guys, Connie tended to be pretty thoughtful and evenhanded about such things, so she hoped her perspective could help.

Looking over at her concerned roommate sitting in the bed opposite her, Connie could tell from Julie's worried face that she wanted answers. Unfortunately for them both, Connie had no real answers to give.

"I don't know." She paused again thoughtfully, trying to make sense of everything herself. "I know it's probably not that simple. I've seen Adam's dad and brother—obviously he has his issues to deal with. And you know, I'm sure those guys probably all have their own issues to deal with, too. Plus, I don't know. I mean, all the stories the guys on the bus were telling, yeah, they were true, but usually Larson wasn't the one _doing_ anything. Generally Adam and McGill were the ones actually beating people up and throwing people's backpacks in the lake and stuff."

 _Gee, that makes me feel WAY better._

The discussion continued on for another twenty minutes, neither one coming any closer to untangling what it meant for Adam to be friends with a person like Larson. Finally, tired after a long day, Julie brushed her teeth and curled up into bed, trying her best to think about the boy who always smelled wonderful and stayed up late listening to her vent about silly problems. After all, she reminded herself as she tried to push down the lump in the back of her throat, that was the Adam she'd known for years; not the callous tyrant she'd heard about on the bus.

.

Meanwhile, half a mile away, Adam was eating a late dinner with the Larsons, pleasantly oblivious to the conversations raging over at Eden Hall. There, in the comfortable eat-in kitchen, everyone sat around the large oak dining table, enjoying Mrs. Larson's taco casserole as they discussed the various non-events of their lives.

"So last week, Brian got his dick stuck in a Gatorade bottle, and he had to go to the emergency room with a clear plastic bottle over his dong." Reid suddenly piped up between bites of casserole.

For a moment, everyone else just sat there quietly staring down at their plates, contemplating the inappropriate tidbit. Finally, after a second, Dr. Larson spoke up, asking the question on everyone's mind.

"So…one of the big bottles, or one of the small ones?"

"One of the small ones."

"Oh, okay. That's what I figured, but you know. I was hoping I wouldn't have to proud of the kid or anything."

"Oh goodness John, really? You know our _daughter_ is at the table, right?"

Suddenly, he looked over at his red haired pre-teen daughter very solemnly and slowly shook his head.

"Sweetheart, one day, people will start telling you that you should date boys. This is why those people are wrong. We are all horrible and disgusting creatures. Those of us at this table, we're unfortunately the _good_ ones. It's…it's pretty much all downhill from this."

Reid and Adam nodded in sad agreement.

"So was Brian the one who told you this?" Adam asked a second later, well aware that Brian McGill _was_ the kind of guy dumb enough to volunteer such a story.

"Nah, Garrett told me. He was coming back into their room from the library when he walked in on the whole thing."

"Ah man, that's just wrong."

...…...

The next morning, Adam woke up to the feeling that he'd spent all night swallowing razor blades and stuffing his nose with modeling clay. Reluctantly, he forced his aching body out of bed and made his way across the cold floor to the bathroom, determined to go ahead and get ready for school like the good, responsible boy he was.

No sooner than he started to brush his teeth, though, a painful sneezing fit sent a terrible green mixture of snot and toothpaste flying across the immaculate marble tiled bathroom. Taking one look at the sticky, slimy mess all around him, he decided that his dignity had taken enough of an assault over the last few of weeks, and he crawled right back into bed, relishing in the feeling of his cool pillow.

Mr. Fluffy wasn't going to judge him for his red nose and sneezing mishaps. He figured his classmates probably would.

A couple of hours later, he got back up and made his way over to the couch. Buried under a massive fluffy blanket as he flipped through the channels, he was excited to see that Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood was on—he suspected that he was about twelve years too old for the show, but that didn't matter. As far as he was concerned, it was a sick day tradition. Struggling to breath through his nose as Trolley took everyone to The Neighborhood of Make Believe, his mind drifted back to the days when his mom would snuggle up with him as they watched the show together, and how she'd always make his favorite pancakes for him afterwards.

He was half tempted to go wake her up and see if she'd watch it with him, but he figured that would be a bit too pathetic, even by his standards. Plus, it would be no use—the last time she'd spent a morning eating pancakes and watching Mr. Rogers' with him was almost five years ago, after Brian had knocked him into the goal post.

As un-manly as it felt to admit, the three days of banana pancakes and snuggles from his mom had almost made the concussion and sprained neck worth it.

...…...

"Does it look like I have a damn job? I'm in school for fucks sake—"

"You ain't in school! You ain't never went to school."

Adam was still in bed Saturday morning, the sun streaming in through the window as he wrapped himself tighter in his cocoon of down filled blankets. He still felt like he'd been the victim of a tragic sword swallowing accident, and to make matters worse, every few minutes he'd start coughing or sneezing again, which only aggravated his burning throat and aching chest. There was nothing he wanted more in the world than to be able to go back to sleep.

Unfortunately for him, the universe seemed to have other ideas.

"The hell, bitch? I fucking graduated. You're the fucking eighth grade dropout!"

" _Someone_ had to take care of Cierra, and it sure as hell wasn't your lazy, good for nothin' ass!"

"Finishing junior high isn't being lazy! That's just what people who don't live in the projects _do_!"

Arguments between Scott and girls with poor judgment over child support were not a rare thing. Creating illegitimate children was one of Scott Claibourne Monnier Banks' primary talents in life, right along with drug dealing, fighting, and public intoxication—he'd inexplicably managed to get a girl in the projects pregnant back when the rest of his prep school classmates were still getting excited about the underwear pages of the J.C. Penney's catalog.

Normally, though, such arguments did not make their way to the Banks' front yard. After all, public transit did not run to the Banks' neighborhood, meaning that the very types of girls who _needed_ child support from the unemployed 22 year old were also the types of girls who were going to be hard pressed to pay him a visit.

Crystal, however, had found a ride.

"You're making fun of _me_? For _where I live_? You live with your parents, you dope dealing piece of shit!"

 _Oh God, no_.

Reluctantly, Adam crawled out of bed and walked over to the window to see just how humiliated he should be. Peering out the second floor window, he quickly forgot all about his raw, painful throat and aching side: He had a much bigger problem on his hands.

There, in their front yard, in the wealthiest neighborhood in the state, was Scott, standing outside in nothing but his boxers and an unzipped ski parka, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he yelled at a thin, heavily tattooed woman in a McDonald's uniform. Already, their redneck shouting match had attracted the attention of the entire neighborhood, and Adam could see that their neighbor across the street was now sitting out on her front porch, sipping a bloody mary in her fur coat as she shamelessly gawked at the whole scene.

"At least I'm not the one shooting up over in the crack stacks!"

 _Out of all of the possible brothers in the world_ …

"The hell, you stuck up piece of shit? You're accusing me of being the damn crackhead here? I ain't the one slingin' yayo."

Adam started to head back to his nice comfortable bed, eager to take another hydrocodone and bury himself under a giant pile of goose down. As he started to walk away from the window, though, he noticed something in the Jerry Springer-esque melee that he'd initially missed: A small child standing next to her mother, shivering in just a Barbie T-shirt and thin purple leggings.

 _Dang it._

Sighing, he grabbed his coat from the back of his desk chair, slipped on a pair of boat shoes that were lying in the floor nearby, and made his way downstairs and out the front door. His date with sleep would have to wait.

"Hey sweetie, what's your name?" He asked gently, carefully kneeling down to the small girl's level. With every word, he felt like razor blades were tearing away at his esophagus, and he hoped his voice didn't sound nearly as awful to the poor kid as it did to him.

"Jazmyn"

"That's a very pretty name, Jazmyn. My name is Adam. Would you like to come inside with me? It's pretty cold out here, and if we go inside, we can get some breakfast and watch cartoons together."

Holding her tiny little hand in his, the two slowly made their way back towards the big, warm Tudor mansion, the argument between Scott and Crystal still raging.

"You like Captain Crunch?"

"Uh huh"

"Good," He smiled, "because that's my favorite."


	19. Hell's Roller Coaster

Author's Notes: My apologies if this chapter is a little short and uneventful. I just felt like things flowed better with this chapter and the beginning of the next chapter separated...even though the unfortunate result is that this chapter really only has one event. Oh well, surely there have bigger crimes against fiction! (Most of which have been committed by yours truly, because well, I'm not exactly Faulkner.)

And don't worry GrownUp90's/Matt, there is no shame in laughing at Scott's antics. Or maybe there is, but it wasn't this author's intent. Personally, I have a pretty huge soft spot the degenerate. After all, he's just doing his part to make sure that the recessive gene for blue eyes lives on for forever...very responsible of him, really;)

* * *

"So….I just thought you should know that Luke Riley says that his brother says that your brother is a white trash idiot, and that he belongs in a trailer park somewhere."

It was Monday morning, and unsurprisingly, word of Scott's weekend visit from Crystal had spread around the school. Bored in second period government, Brittany and Erica had taken it upon themselves to update Adam on the precise status of the high school rumor mill, seeing the situation as both as an opportunity to gossip and as a chance impress the cute center forward with their impeccable knowledge of the Eden Hall social scene.

 _Well, aren't you pretty fucking special, Rick?_

"But…" Erica added, giving a consolatory smile as she twirled her auburn ponytail, "if it makes you feel any better, I also overheard Mindy telling Mandy that he's good in bed. So you know, clearly he has some fans!"

"Yeah, and I also overheard Jennifer Olsen say that she wishes he'd break up with Sloane, because apparently she likes him, too."

"Basically, like, pretty much all of the popular senior girls still think he's cool, except for like, obviously, the overachiever-y ones and stuff. Like, some of them _agree_ that he's kind of a washed up loser and all, but they like, would also totally do the horizontal tango with him."

"Yeah, the guys pretty much all _just_ think he's a loser, but I think that might be because like, half of their girlfriends have been with him. Well, that and because he's a high school dropout and all…"

With every word, Adam could feel his blood pressure rising. He didn't care one way or the other what the senior girls thought of Scott, and he himself hardly approved of the older Banks' libertine lifestyle, but after the _unpleasantness_ with Varsity, he was not about to have a person like Rick Riley weigh in on anything.

After all, being a good-natured screw up was one thing. Being a sadist was quite another.

"Well, if you want, you can tell Luke that I said that his brother is a faggot."

Suddenly, the whole class went silent, and every single set of eyes in the room turned to stare at the normally unflappable preppy. Nothing about the statement itself was inherently shocking—guys regularly used worse language than that when discussing what they wanted to eat for lunch, but Adam was notthat kind of guy. Him raising his voice or using course language around girls was, to pardon the pun, unheard of.

"Umm...well, uh, okay. I should probably go finish up my homework for next period." Brittany awkwardly sputtered, turning around to go back to her seat, her face now bright pink under its thickly caked on foundation. She wasn't quite sure what she'd imagined his reaction would be, but it certainly wasn't that.

…

For the rest of the morning, the discussions about the colorful alumn continued, leaving Adam both rather embarrassed by the situation itself and furious at everyone involved. He could hardly decide which was worse: Having an idiot for a brother, or having to listen to even bigger idiots make fun of the brother who he did very much love, questionable life choices and all.

 _I'd like to see a few of THOSE assholes live with Mom and Dad for awhile. See how well they're doing after a couple of years._

By the time lunch rolled around, his patience had worn thin, and his jaw ached from being so tightly clenched all morning. The only thing lightning his mood was the knowledge that he was finally going to get a 40-minute reprieve from the school's Brooks Brothers-clad hypocrites.

Annoying though the Ducks could be, they were fundamentally his friends, and unlike the rest of Eden Hall, they had mercifully little interest in the sordid details of Scott's life. As such, Adam genuinely was looking forward to the time with them…even without Julie, who he knew would once again be in the library, working on a project for English.

As soon as he approached the Duck table, however, his hopes of a pleasant reprieve from the gossip all came crashing down. As he neared the table, lunch tray in hand, a flood of silence suddenly washed away every conversation that had been going on just seconds before, and his former teammates began to stare down at their respective plates of spaghetti, at a loss for what to say. Connie politely gave a quick, half-hearted greeting, while several people, including Guy and Averman nervously chewed at their lips and played with their fingers. Others yet, including Charlie and Portman, visibly seethed with anger, fists balled and jaws jutting out.

"Oh-kaaaaay? Is there something I missed?" Adam asked politely as he stood over the table, his eyes scanning the quiet bunch as did his best to keep his own pent up anger at the morning's events from spilling over.

 _After all, it's not their fault that this is a school full of assholes._

 _._

Just as he had been so many years earlier, Charlie was once again the first Duck to break the stony silence.

This time, though, it wasn't to make the former Hawk feel welcome.

"Look, you can quit slumming with us, if you want. Go back to Varsity. Go back to Breck. Go wherever makes you happy."

"What are you even talking about?"

"I'm talking about the fact that you forgot to mention that you're practically best fucking butt buddies with Larson. _Larson_ of all people."

" _Larson, of all people," indeed._

Inwardly, Adam was seething. For over three weeks, he had been caught on the rollercoaster of hell, except that the track never seemed to go back up; it just kept plummeting lower and lower into the flaming tar pits, leaving him to wonder what horrendous new depths he'd arrive at next.

Still, he took a deep breath and reminded himself to be _a_ _good person_.

"Okay, well, obviously we aren't 'butt buddies', dumbass. But yeah. We've been friends since pre-school. I don't really know how that's a new development for you, honestly. Not like it's a big secret."

"Yeah, actually, everything with you pretty much _IS_ a big a secret!" Charlie retorted, throwing down his fork as his brown eyes attempted to burn holes through Adam's obnoxiously expensive pastel blue polo. "Larson. The Varsity dinner. How you live with yourself when your friends are out torturing everyone else. You're pretty much nothing but a bunch of fucking secrets, you stuck up asshole."

With that, all intentions of being _a good person_ went out the window. Throwing his tray down with enough force that bits of spaghetti sauce went sailing through the air, Adam reached back into the pocket of his khakis with his good hand, grabbed his neat tan leather wallet, pulled out $3, and threw the crisp pile of ones down onto Charlie's plate of spaghetti.

"You know what, Charlie? I can tell you can't afford it, so here's a couple dollars to go pick yourself up a box of Midol. Maybe think about shoplifting yourself a bag of M&Ms while you're there, so that you can go home and cry about how _hard_ it is to be Charlie Conway. Mope about how tragic it was that you got stuck paying for a lobster or two after ruining thousands of dollars worth of stuff. Tell your mom about how hurtful it is that I have friends other than you. Cry into your pillow about how everyone is _totally picking on_ _YOU,_ the most bullied guy in the entire universe. Then call me when your balls finally drop."

The rest of the table just stared in wide-eyed silence for a moment, trying to process what had happened. Seeing Adam annoyed was one thing—polite though he was, it was a bit of a long running joke that he was actually a curmudgeonly 50 year old man trapped in the body of a teenager. Seeing him angry was rarer, but still not unheard of. This, though…this was different. This was a side that the new Ducks had never seen, and that the original Ducks had done all they could to forget.

Before the events of the previous minute had finished sinking in, Adam stormed out of the lunchroom, leaving behind nothing but a splattered tray of spaghetti, a shocked captain, and three $1 bills now coated in marinara sauce, a tomato mustache covering George Washington's upper lip. He charged out into the clear, early March day, the last bits of leftover snow crunching at his feet as the wind nipped at his face.

Someone had some explaining to do.

.

As he reached the double doors of the library, his blue eyes were still blazing with fury, and he wanted nothing more than to have a little talk with his supposed girlfriend who had knowingly thrown him to the Ducks, happy to hole herself up in the library, well away from the fallout she knew was about to happen.

It was hardly as though he wanted her to fight his battles for him, but a _little_ support would have been appreciated.

 _At the very least, she could have told me what I was going to be walking into_.

His hand already reaching for the doorknob, Adam looked through the large window next to the door, the corners of its glass panes still coated in frost from the frigid morning. There, he could see Julie sitting in an overstuffed club chair, snuggled up in her loose hunter green Dartmouth hoodie, a neon pink highlighter held between her teeth. All around her, mountains of textbooks and piles of papers surrounded the driven goalie, locking her into a fortress of work and responsibility.

Instantly, a small piece of Adam's anger began to melt away.

She had bigger things to worry about than his social life. She had bigger things to worry about than him.

He sighed and turned back around. Slowly, he began to walk home, drips of icy cold water pelting his sandy hair as the snow in the tree branches above began to melt under the warmth of the mid-day sunlight. His parka was still back in his locker at school, and the melting snow on the ground was seeping through the soft leather of his loafers, leaving his feet cold and soaked.

None of those things mattered, though. Goosebump covered arms and frozen feet were the least of his concerns.

…...

That afternoon, as the rest of his classmates were learning about the Spanish-American War and gossiping about whether two of the football players were gay now that they'd slept with the same girl, Adam found himself thawing out back at home, curled up on the sofa with a cup of hot cocoa and the family's often forgotten golden retriever. Before long, his fingers and toes were quite cozy, but thawing the inside was a different matter entirely.

Julie, meanwhile, was quickly hearing _all_ about the day's events in the cafeteria, courtesy of one very riled up captain and a number of dumbfounded Ducks. While she'd been aware of the tensions following the Breck game, she'd never anticipated anything so climactic, and as she heard the recap of his and Charlie's discussion, she could hardly believe her ears.

.

The Adam she was hearing about now didn't sound like the boy she loved—the one who'd risked a pounding by Portman and who would stop to rescue worms that had washed up on the sidewalk during rainstorms. No, this Adam sounded more like the eleven year old she'd heard about on the bus.

.

By the next day, tensions had calmed slightly, but nothing felt any clearer. As the emotion started to drain from the previous day's muck, Adam was beginning to sound less monstrous, but he also wasn't sounding like a particularly nice person. Julie could see that there had been a certain amount of logic to the things he'd said, but the cruelty of the way he'd said it all replayed through her mind. Charlie had been immature, but it was obvious that Adam had tried to cut as deeply as he could, and in many ways, that disturbed Julie far more than a bit of tit for tat immaturity.

.

The rest of the week, the two of them barely spoke. They were cordial in class, each giving one another a polite 'hello' before the bell rang, and the occasional quick hug in the hallway, but the intimacy wasn't there. There were no notes passed back and forth, or luxuriously long hugs by her locker, or quick, stolen kisses when nobody else was paying attention. There were no moments of her leaning against his shoulder at lunch, nor any phone calls in the evening.

During chemistry, Julie focused more intently than ever on bringing up the pesky B+ that refused to turn into an A. At lunch, she hid out in the library each day, working on the various projects and homework assignments that never seemed to end. Once upon a time, Adam had been a welcome distraction from those things…now they were a welcome distraction from him. A distraction from all of the unanswered questions that she wasn't sure she wanted answered.

.

Adam, meanwhile, spent his lunches eating with Crawford and Thad, listening to the endless, mind numbing discussions about golf and whose mediocre McMansion was bigger. At the end of the day, he would go back home to his cavernous house and gorge himself on Cheetos and Fruit By The Foot, the familiar hum of business deals, drug deals, and shattering wine glasses playing out in the background, forming the symphony of life in the Banks family.

When he felt up to it, he'd curl up with a copy of The Wall Street Journal and read about the latest in corporate news and the international business climate. Other days, he and Scott would find something to watch on TV, only to get bored and start throwing chips and beating one another with the remote control, instead. And, on the bad days, all he would do was lie in bed and mope to himself, thinking of the many things his future no longer held.

Once again, it seemed hell's roller coaster had managed to take another plunge, descending him further into the flaming abyss.

…...

Early Friday evening, Adam was once again lying in bed next to Mr. Fluffy, contemplating all that he had lost. The whole room seemed to be taunting him—the hockey stick leaned against his closet, the unopened textbooks on his desk, the framed photo nearby of Team USA after winning the Goodwill Games—all were reminders of the life he no longer had.

Looking over on his nightstand, he saw the old note Julie had given him two weeks earlier; the one with a drawing of a ghost, reassuring him that he was cuter than Casper. Holding the folded piece of paper, staring down at her neat, loopy handwriting, he knew what he had to do.

Losing the first love of his life was outside of his control, but he wasn't going to lose the second love of his life without a fight.

Mustering every bit of courage he had, he sat up, reached for the phone, and dialed the number to her dorm. As he heard it ring, he took a deep breath, carefully trying to cross the fingers on his right hand as he held the phone with his left.

 _Don't break up with me, Julie._

 _Please don't break up with me._

"Hello?"

…..


	20. Sweet 16

…..

"So _now_ I know who froze my watch and favorite sweater! Tsk tsk, Cat Lady!"

Sitting back at her cramped dorm, surrounded by notecards and study guides, Julie had to admit that it felt pretty nice to talk to a certain preppy. It wasn't that she didn't have her misgivings, but misgivings or not, he was still her best friend. And her boyfriend. And he was also rather cute, if she did say so herself.

She was also feeling a little guilty now that the subject had gotten to the Varsity prank, and Charlie's lack of involvement with it.

"I actually am really sorry about that. Like, really _really_ sorry."

"Ah, don't worry about it. Besides, the bad part wasn't the loss of my sweater. The bad part was getting stuck in a snow globe of flying jacket shards! Do you have any idea what getting a piece of Izod shirt in your eye feels like?"

 _Crap. Pretty sure he WAS_ _wearing glasses instead of his contacts the next day, now that I think about it…_

"Oh my God, that's the opposite of making me feel better!"

"Come on, if you can't survive being temporarily blinded by a frozen polo shirt, do you really have any business playing hockey? I mean, that's _obviously_ part of the game!"

Listening to his gentle, familiar voice, and thinking about his slightly offbeat sense of humor, Julie found that it was hard to stay mad. After all, he had no trouble forgiving her for the ruined clothes and the unforeseen storm of flying jacket shards. If he was willing to overlook a frozen TAG Heuer and a scratched cornea, surely she could overlook a bit of unpleasantness with Charlie and his questionable taste in friends.

"You realize what this means, right?"

"What?"

"You've technically survived a crocodile attack! You're officially like, the manliest man ever!"

"It took a crocodile attack for you to realize that? Come on now!"

It had taken a few days, but as Julie closed her textbook and put away her pile of notecards for the evening, she realized that she still adored Adam as much as she ever did. One moment of being a jerk hardly outweighed his thousand other wonderful moments.

She also realized that he had a birthday coming up in a few days, and that she probably owed him a new sweater. And perhaps a seeing eye dog.

...

Meanwhile, Julie wasn't the only one well aware that Adam had a birthday coming up. With all of the eventfulness of the previous month, Phil had been unusually aware of his younger son's upcoming birthday, and, in his continued efforts at improving the strained father-son relationship, had asked Adam several times what he would like to do to celebrate.

This, of course, had Adam contemplating a move to Siberia.

It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the sentiment. It was just that the Banks family didn't have the best track record with regards to holidays. After The ShowBiz Pizza Massacre of '88, The Great Bowling Alley Brawl of '89, and The Stripper Incident of '91, Adam had learned that it was generally best _not_ to remind his parents of upcoming birthdays. After all, his best birthday party had been the 1990 trip to a North Stars game, where Phil spent the entire time screaming into his cell phone at Coach Wilson about how Scott should _obviously_ be allowed to play in the upcoming playoffs despite a broken foot. After forty minutes of obscenity filled shouting, security asked them all to leave, and in his angry huff, Phillip forgot to make sure he was leaving with the same number of second graders he came with.

The police found Brian McGill five hours later, shivering alone by the side of the interstate.

None of Adam's other birthday parties had gone quite that smoothly.

...

Come Saturday morning, instead of highlighting notes or making another stack of flashcards, Julie was curled up in bed with a cup of coffee, perusing the L.L. Bean catalog. She'd counted her money the night before—she had $117.43 saved up from leftover Christmas money, babysitting over the summer, and doing extra chores back home over break. That still wasn't going to be enough to replace Adam's watch that she'd frozen, but it _would_ be enough to buy him a very nice new sweater…if only she knew more about picking out sweaters for guys.

As she sat in bed looking through page after glossy page of sensible, well-made men's sweaters, she was left with the disheartening realization that her boyfriend knew entirely more about fashion than she did.

" _Connie doesn't know how good she has it."_ Julie thought to herself, sighing as she flipped through the catalog, trying in vain to figure out what the difference between lamb's wool and merino wool could possibly be.

 _Isn't all wool lamb's wool? I mean, you can't shear a merino, can you?_

 _And what is a merino, anyway? Is it related to a cashmere?_

 _I really should have joined 4H as a kid…I bet those girls know what a merino is. They could probably walk right out to their backyards, shear their pet merino, and have a sweater made by tomorrow._

Try as she might, every sweater in the catalog looked the same—from her vantage point, the only difference was color and price, and the expensive sweaters all came in the same unremarkable colors as the cheaper ones.

After another twenty minutes of staring at pictures of sturdy looking men and fresh faced women carrying firewood in their maroon and navy sweaters, Julie finally swallowed her pride and placed a long distance call back home. She knew asking her mother for advice would come at the price of having to hear all about yesterday's trip to the grocery store, as well as having to answer fifteen minutes of banal questions about whether she'd been wearing her retainer and eating enough vegetables, but she also knew that if anyone had experience buying sweaters for boys, it was Mary Ann Gaffney.

After four kids and twenty two years of marriage, sometimes Julie worried that was _all_ her mother knew how to do.

...

Meanwhile, a mile away, after multiple conversations about how he definitely did _not_ want an elaborate party, Phil finally conceded that a quiet birthday celebration at home might not be such a bad idea. The two agreed on a nice dinner at the house, perhaps with Julie or Larson invited. While the plan did sound a bit anticlimactic to Phil, it was also a relief.

Like Adam, the family patriarch had noticed the family's spotty track record with regards to holidays, and as visions of birthdays past replayed in his head, he had to agree that simple might be best. In particular, within the darker recesses of his aging mind, Phillip could still hear the screams of a dozen rabid kindergarten boys attacking an overall-clad bear. It had been nine years, but even still, the beeping and buzzing of arcade games could conjure up images of chestnut colored faux fur sailing through the air in slow motion. He could no longer remember what he'd just eaten for lunch or whether he'd taken his prostate medication the night before, but he could still clearly see the horrified expressions of the brave teenaged employees dropping their scalding pans of pizza to run towards the disaster.

As a man who'd grown up around the horrors of steel mills and their associated industrial accidents, he thought he was hardened to the dangers and potential carnage of working class life. He himself had lost an uncle to a machine malfunction at the GM factory, and his own brother had come back from Vietnam with only half of a face. Even so, he cringed when he thought of that poor man with a bear suit and a fake banjo.

 _With those big fake paws, that poor man never stood a chance…_

…...

By the time Adam's birthday arrived on Wednesday, he awoke to an unseasonably warm spring day. Though he'd never minded Minnesota winters the way that some people did, when he saw that the high for the day was going to be in the low 70's, he felt like he'd been given a birthday gift from above. Digging out a pair of chino shorts from the bottom of his drawer, he felt more optimistic than he had in awhile—the sun was out, the weather was warm, and most importantly, things with Julie were starting to feel like they were back on the right track. He suspected that she would move onto someone better before long, but for now, things were looking up.

 _Maybe 16 won't be so bad, after all._

 _._

In many ways, his day at school proved to be just as charmed as his morning had been. He was still being frozen out by a few of the Ducks, but Connie, Guy, Fulton, Ken, and Russ all wished him a happy birthday at various points in the day. At lunch, Crawford and Thad's girlfriends got the entire table to sing _Happy Birthday_ to him, which, while embarrassingly loud and horribly off-key, actually felt pretty nice. Best of all, though, Julie seemed genuinely excited about coming over for dinner that night.

As soon as he got home, he went upstairs to shower and fix his hair, determined to look his best for a certain lovely goalie. Afterwards, he stood in the middle of his vast walk-in closet for a several minutes, staring out at the rainbow of perfectly arranged polos and oxfords all around him, hung on matching dark wooden hangers. Surrounded on three sides by the colorful array, he wracked his brain trying to recall whether there were any shirts Julie had specifically mentioned liking.

He recalled that in seventh grade, Allison Barker had said he looked nice in red, and that Scott's mostly off-again girlfriend Sloane had complimented him when he wore hunter green. Try as he might, though, he couldn't recollect Julie sharing any such preferences.

 _She probably realizes that I'm the same dumbass in any color! That's why she's Julie, and that's why Sloane is dating a guy who'll be a grandpa by 30._

Meanwhile, outside, he could hear his dad messing with the barbeque grill, bound and determined to take advantage of the nice weather by grilling lobster. Roughly every fifteen minutes, he could hear the rattling of the refrigerator drawers as Phil and Scott took turns coming back inside for more beer, which was simultaneously reassuring and concerning.

.

Around 6, he went with his dad to pick Julie up from the dorms. As she emerged from the grey stone building with a big, beautifully wrapped box in her arms, Adam's eyes lit up; he'd already gotten the best birthday present a guy could ask for. Dressed for the occasion in a short khaki skirt and a tight white T-shirt that perfectly hugged her curves, her golden mane shone in the warm evening sun, and she looked as gorgeous as he'd ever seen her.

" _Perhaps too gorgeous."_ He realized in a panic when he looked down.

"Uh, Dad. You uh, you want to go get the door for her, by chance? I…think I need a second."

Hurriedly, he adjusted himself, and by the time Julie climbed into the backseat next to him, she was none he wiser as to the situation that had just taken place. As he leaned over to give her a quick kiss on the cheek, he paused for a second, taking in the sweet, tropical scent of her coconut shampoo.

"You look absolutely stunning."

"Why thank you. You don't exactly look bad yourself." She replied smiling, as she took in his hunter green polo and perfectly pressed khakis.

"By the way, happy birthday! Do you feel older and more mature now that you're a man of 16?"

"Oh yeah. I think I'm going to start my 401(k) tomorrow. Maybe start going to the opera every weekend. You know, important, mature person stuff."

"I…could kind of see you doing that, actually."

"Well, with compounding interest, it would make financial sense."

For the rest of the short ride back home, the two sat cuddled together in the backseat, Adam's long, muscular arm draped around Julie's delicate shoulders as the two rested against the seat's sumptuous leather. As she leaned her head against his shoulder, Adam briefly closed his eyes to take in the moment.

Despite everything, for a fleeting minute, he felt like every birthday wish of the last two years had come true.

…

"Scott, how about you go up put on a clean shirt? Make sure you throw that one in the hamper."

Things back at the Banks' house had been going smoothly. After picking Julie up from the dorms, everyone went to sit outside on the back porch, enjoying the long awaited spring weather as Phil prepared the grilled lobster tails and Bunny brought out pitchers of freshly squeezed lemonade and sangria. The first birds of the season were out chirping away in the secluded backyard as a fire softly crackled in the outdoor fire pit, the heat from the fire cutting through the slight evening chill.

For sixty glorious minutes, as the sun slowly set over their exclusive neighborhood, the Banks family acted like the happy, functional family that they pretended to be in their Christmas card photos.

And then Scott dripped butter on his shirt.

"I'm still eating. I'll do it later."

"You look like a hobo. Go change. And comb your hair while you're up there."

"What does it matter to you?"

"It matters because I said it matters. We have company. You look like a numb nuts."

 _So much for our uneventful dinner._

"I'm pretty sure the only person at this table who cares that I have butter on my shirt is you. As I said, I'll fucking change later."

 _Though I suppose for us, the real event would be a dinner that DIDN'T end this way._

"Quit being a fucking dipshit. You live in my house, you drive a car I paid for, you'll do whatever the fuck I say you will. Now quit acting like a damn toddler, and go change clothes and comb your fucking hair."

"Don't tell me what to do, you fucking asshole."

"What the hell did you just say, you little cocksucker?"

"I said 'suck my dick', asswipe."

With that, Adam got up and shepherded Julie inside, the birds in the trees still chirping away as Phil and Scott continued their productive father-son discussion.

"Uh…sorry about that." Adam smiled apologetically once the two were back inside, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. "The good news is they don't have any stairs nearby this time, so you know…"

Looking at the sheepish birthday boy, his ears once again turning slightly pink and the collar of his shirt now ruffled, Julie found herself wishing she could just take him back to the dorms with her, and keep him by her side for forever.

 _There's plenty of room for two in those twin beds._

Barring that unrealistic option, she followed him upstairs, making sure to grab his birthday present from the kitchen counter on their way up.

"You did _not_ get me a birthday gift!"

"Umm…I think it's something I owe you!"

"You don't owe me anything. You're perfect. Plus, you put up with me, _and_ you've met my family without running away screaming. That's more than gift enough."

Before long, the two had reached the top of the stairs. Setting the impeccably wrapped package down on a nearby carved mahogany end table, Julie pulled Adam in tightly, gently running her long, delicate fingers through the back of his sandy hair as her other arm remained wrapped around his now slightly squishier waist. Playfully combing through his hair with her fingers, she noticed that she could no longer feel any exposed scalp, nor any awkward prickly areas where hair was just starting to grow back in. His thick, luxurious locks had finally been restored to their full glory.

" _I love you so much."_ She thought to herself,resting her forehead against the nape of his neck.

"Yeah, well, you're kind of wonderful yourself."

Making their way over to the couch, Julie carried over the big gold and white box, topped with a giant navy satin bow—she'd had her mom wrap it Maine and mail it that way, protected inside a larger box, well aware that her own gift wrapping skills left a bit to be desired.

"I'm serious. Whatever this is, you're taking it back, and you're getting yourself something, instead. Having you here with me _is_ my birthday present."

"Quit being silly! If it makes you feel any better, we won't even call it a present. We'll just call it replacing something I ruined. Because that's exactly what it is."

Relenting, Adam finally sat down and began unwrapping the gorgeous package, carefully tearing away and the thick gold and white striped wrapping paper. He was still determined that whatever it was, he'd make her take it back so she could use the money on herself.

"Julie. No, you did _not_ spend this kind of money on me."

The package now open, he stared down at the L.L. Bean Norwegian sweater laying in his lap, smiling as he pulled the sweater out of the box. He easily recognized the navy and white bird's eye print. The sweater was classic and gorgeous—in fact, it had been on his Christmas list the year before, only to be forgotten by Santa. There was no doubt that it was far nicer than the old $40 hand me down sweater of Scott's that had been shattered across the concrete floor of the locker room several months earlier.

Despite the fact that he already had a closet full of nice things, a part of him was genuinely excited about the upgrade.

However, also realized that it was _not_ a cheap sweater.

 _That would be a month's allowance for me…_

"Technically, I owe you a lot more than just a sweater, but I don't think I can rake enough leaves at my parents' house to pay for the watch."

"You don't owe me anything, Jules. You could never owe me anything."

With his good arm, he pulled her in towards him, until the two were curled up together on the couch, her head resting against his chest. With his other arm very much in the way, it took them both a bit of wiggling and adjusting to find a position that worked, but once they did, it was well worth the effort, his long legs sprawled across the sofa as she leaned into his lap. As he sat there with her head cradled against his chest, he marveled at how fortunate he really was to have a girlfriend as thoughtful and selfless as her.

 _I love you. I'll always love you._

Just as the two were basking in their wonderful togetherness, the moment was suddenly interrupted by a massive boom from outside that rattled the windows and filled the room with a sudden fiery orange glow.

"Fucking retard!"

Startled, they both glanced out the nearby window just in time to see a wall of flames shooting up towards the heavens, temporarily illuminating the night sky.

"Damn moron!"

"Dipshit"

Gathering from the ongoing discussion that everyone was still alive, Adam did his best to stifle his laughter before getting back to the more important task at hand—snuggling with Julie. As the argument continued to rage outside, the two remained cuddled up together in their own blissful little world, temporarily impervious to the problems around them.

…...

Two days later, on the Friday after his 16th birthday, Adam once again found himself in the passenger seat of Phil's smoke filled Mercedes, silently watching the Minnesota countryside pass them by as they made their way back to Rochester for yet another appointment with Dr. Chen. The overpowering physical pain of five weeks earlier had long subsided, but in its place came the dull, never ending ache of a body and life that was no longer what it had been. Of a life that would never again be what it was supposed to be.

"So…how's school going?" Phil finally asked between drags on his cigarette, desperate to try to break up the silence.

"It's alright."

"And Julie?"

 _For now? Really good. Once she realizes that my future is about as bright as an all grey box of crayons? Probably not great._

"Also alright."

Staring out the window, things had somehow become even blander since the snow had melted. Now, instead of a fresh, white blanket covering everything, there was nothing to see but mud and clumpy, charcoal colored remnants of stubborn old snow banks that refused to yield to spring. Five weeks earlier, Adam would have never dreamed that the drive to Rochester could be even _more_ depressing, but alas, life had once again proven him wrong.

.

"Well Adam, I've got good news. It looks like everything is healing quite nicely. I believe you should be able to look forward to a very positive outcome."

There was a faint buzz coming from the overhead florescent light fixture in Dr. Chen's office, and as Adam sat on the crinkled white paper of the exam table, it struck him as needlessly cruel that such an inherently unpleasant place would be made even worse through such obnoxious lighting. Even fully clothed, the florescent lights and the thin paper beneath him left him feeling exposed, as though the office itself was doing all it could to strip him of what little dignity he had left.

Still, Dr. Chen's words registered, and for a second, they gave him just a little bit of hope.

"How positive?" Adam asked, giving a smile that told Dr. Chen exactly what he was _really_ wanting to know.

The aging doctor looked down and sighed, rubbing his greying temples for a moment.

"What I mean is that, with a lot of physical therapy, you should regain a decent amount of function in your arm. You'll be able to draw and write and pick up heavy textbooks, and one day when you're older, you'll be able to carry your wife across the threshold, and show your children how to hold a hockey stick, and all of the other nice things that people with two relatively healthy arms can do."

Adam was doing all he could to remain stoic. To hold onto that last bit of dignity that hadn't been taken away by circumstance, poor lighting, or the sound of butcher paper crinkling beneath his butt. Still, his face fell, right along with his spirit. He knew what Dr. Chen's answer meant.

"So…no hockey?"

"I'm not saying you'll never play hockey again, Adam. What I'm saying is that there's a whole world out there."

Dr. Chen paused and took another breath, trying to find the right words as his dark almond eyes met Adam's watery baby blues. "Unfortunately, if we're being realistic, your dreams of going pro are pretty well finished—no matter how nicely things heal, and how hard you work in physical therapy, there's just no possible way to fully restore your arm to what it was. That doesn't change, however, the fact that you still have your whole life ahead of you. There are a lot of great things you _will_ still be able to do. Hockey just probably won't be one of them…at least, not in that sense."

Just as Dr. Chen worried would happen, the face of the badly injured 16 year old in front of him fell further, and the dam holding back his tears looked as though it could give at any second. The words of wisdom may have been correct, but they were of little comfort to the forward whose life, until five weeks earlier, had been nothing but hockey.

Adam knew that the world was filled with other great things, but that didn't mean that the world was full of other things he was great _at_.

He had never played hockey because he particularly enjoyed it, or because it gave him time with his friends. He occasionally had fun, but the fun was always incidental. He played it because he was good at it…exceptionally good. For him, hockey had always been his one chance to be something other than just another insecure, awkward kid.

Off the ice, he felt like a giant bundle of emotional issues tied up with a pair of J. Crew chinos, but on the ice, he was in control. On the ice, he was greater than the sum of his shortcomings.

Without that, he suspected he was no different than Crawford or Thad—a mediocre guy with mediocre family connections and a mediocre trust fund, destined to spend the rest of his lonely, miserable days jerking off in the bathroom at work and bragging about his new Ethan Allen sofa to other miserable people who also shopped at Ethan Allen and jerked off at work.

"Well, I've also got a second piece of good news for you." Dr. Chen offered, hoping that this bit of good news would go over a bit better than his last lead balloon of reassurance.

"Yeah?"

"The bones in your forearm have healed well enough for you to finally get your elbow back. You'll still have to spend another six weeks in a shorter cast while things continue to heal, but this should make things quite a bit more normal."

 _No it won't. Nothing about my shitty life will ever be normal again._


	21. One Very Lucky Guy

Author's Note: My apologies for both the ridiculous delay in getting this chapter up, as well as how short it is. I've been fussing over this chapter (and the remainder of this story in general) for a month now, and honestly, I just can't quite get to where I want it to be. So...I'm going to post this short, uneventful little chapter as is, and cross my fingers that by doing so, the floodgates of creativity will somehow magically open up.

* * *

Two weeks after his birthday, Adam was sitting alone at his bedroom desk, chewing on an ink pen as he tried unsuccessfully to write his paper for English. It had taken nearly two months, but he had finally gotten to the point where he _could_ do his algebra homework and make it through more than three pages of _Wuthering Heights_ without forgetting what he'd just read. However, as he'd quickly been reminded, ability did not translate into desire, and his _desire_ to solve for _x_ and write about Heathcliff was as lacking as ever.

Making matters worse, it seemed that all of the elements of the universe had coalesced to make analyzing 19th century romantic literatureeven less interesting than usual. Outside, the birds were chirping, spring having finally arrived after months of snow and sleet. Thanks to Phillip's persuasiveness with school authorities and Adam's upstanding reputation amongst the teachers, homework was still being handled on the honor system. Though the examiner at the DMV had expressed reservations, he now had a driver's license that was begging to be used for something more interesting than just going to school. His social life still mostly consisted of listening to Crawford drone on about golf, the ice having never fully thawed between him and the rest of the Ducks. And, of course, without hockey, his life no longer held quite the direction it once did; the lack of any real goal or passion leaving him unmoored.

 _I'm pretty sure Goldman Sachs has never asked anyone to describe the symbolism of white curtains during a job interview…_

Staring out the window at the blossoming dogwoods, he could hear the plastic casing of the pen cracking between his teeth. Suddenly, he was struck by an idea…the sort of idea more commonly associated with his older brother than the well-behaved former hockey star.

.

"Come on!" He pleaded, the cordless phone resting between his ear and shoulder as he twirled the cracked, tooth scarred pen with his fingers. "We have the rest of our lives to be responsible. Ten years from now, we'll be sitting in boring office towers, watching the clock tick by until we die. But for now? We might as well have a little fun."

"I'm pretty sure you'll going into the NHL, silly!"

 _About that…._

"Well, regardless, if our parents are any indication, adulthood's not all that it's cracked up to be. But for now? The city is calling our names."

"Then we can answer the city on Saturday. It's not like it's going anywhere!"

 _Well, that makes one thing Minneapolis and I have in common_.

"Come on! I have my dad's credit card, and I'm pretty sure I still owe you a meal at The Minnesota Club."

"Uh huh. Skipping school _with_ your dad's credit card. That sounds like a great idea! I mean, he's always seemed like a really nice, easy going guy."

"Hey now!" He laughed, "If we were talking about something _important_ like hockey practice, then yeah, that would definitely be a death wish. But school?"

"Besides," he added, "he won't find out."

"I think you've lost your mind!"

"So…is that a yes?"

"I hate you."

"Great! I'll be there to pick you up at 9."

…..

The next morning, he was far too excited by the prospect of an entire day with a certain cat lady to even think of wasting time on something as boring as sleep. By 6, he was in the shower, and by 6:15, he was dancing around his closet to Right Said Fred's _I'm Too Sexy,_ wearing nothing but his mint colored monogrammed boxers.

 _I'm too sexy for my shirt_

 _Too sexy for my shirt_

 _So sexy it hurts_

Standing in his closet, surrounded on three sides by an impressive rainbow of polos and oxfords, he shimmied and shook to the beat, his old hockey stick now repurposed into a microphone. Enthusiastically pivoting around his trusty Easton floor mic, his feet, still wet from the shower, lost their traction and sent him sliding across the wood floor on his backside. Toppling sideways into a built-in shoe rack, a pair of tassled Weejuns came crashing down on his head, the song still thumping in the background.

 _To be so smart, Julie sure does have interesting taste in men…_

Sighing, he picked himself up off the floor, rubbing his sore tailbone. Bruised though his ego was, he couldn't help but laugh at the irony of the situation.

Thankful that nobody was around to witness his spectacle, he returned the shoes to their proper spot and leaned his microphone back against the wall, making a mental note to leave the dancing to people far more graceful than himself.

Recognizing that he was definitely _not_ too sexy for his shirt, he reached over and grabbed his favorite light blue oxford from its wooden hanger and proceeded to get dressed for the morning, his mind pleasantly racing at the thought of the day ahead. Carefully buttoning each button, he thought of Julie's perfect smile, and the glorious feeling of her arms around him, making everything seem right with the world.

Soon, he was fully dressed, his favorite shirt and ubiquitous khakis accented with a red, white, and blue needlepoint belt that a friend of his mom's had made for him following the Team USA win, complete with little navy blue hockey sticks. Taking one last glance in the mirror before he left, he smiled—sure, his nose was still too big, he was still too pale, and he was as awkward as ever, but he felt okay about things. Better than usual.

After all, if Julie could like a dork like him, he had to be doing something right.

.

Eager to kill a few minutes before it was time to pick Julie up at the dorms, he made a quick run through the drive through to pick up two coffees—one for him, and one for his beloved date. With the top down, the cool morning breeze blew through his sandy hair as he sipped his warm coffee, Hootie & the Blowfish's _Only Wanna Be With You_ playing softly on the stereo as he approached Eden Hall.

 _I am one very, very lucky guy!_

Driving past the wrought iron gates that surrounded the stately campus, it occurred to him that for all of the place's flaws, it really was gorgeously manicured. With the arrival of spring, the blossoming trees now formed a delicate floral canopy, and the morning sun bathed everything in a warm glow. Taking another sip of his coffee, he slowly turned down the narrow road that led to the girl's dormitory, his heart fluttering with anticipation.

As Julie emerged from the side door of her stone dormitory, his recognition of his own luck only intensified. For the occasion, she had borrowed a navy Tommy Hilfiger dress from Connie that was both a bit shorter and tighter than anything her own sensible mother would allow her to purchase, the dark blue cotton gracefully hugging her every curve. While the dress was well within the bounds of good taste, it _was_ a drastic departure from her usual jeans and sweatshirts.

As Adam got out to help her into the car, he found himself grateful for the dark lenses of his Wayfarers. Try as he might to be a perfect gentleman, it was impossible to resist checking out her wonderfully sculpted legs as he politely held the door for her.

"I must say, your parents definitely outdid themselves on the birthday gift!"

"Heh, yeah," He smiled, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. "Definitely not what I would have picked, but they meant well."

"You know, only you would manage to be embarrassed by a car like this!" Julie laughed, both amused and charmed by his endless modesty.

"What? It's just so…over the top."

"You know, it's alright to stand out a little every now and then. I'm pretty sure if anyone deserves something nice like this, it's you."

" _Yeah. Try talking to Varsity about how it's okay to stand out."_ He thought ruefully, his mind drifting away from his beautiful girlfriend and the perfect weather, towards darker, less pleasant memories.

"Are you alright?"

By this time, he was back in the driver's seat, and from the look on his face and way he was staring blankly at the steering wheel, Julie could tell there was more on his mind than just the car. Gently, she took hold of his still casted hand the best that she could, her fingers tracing the smooth ridges of his short, round fingernails.

 _I think this may be the first time his fingers haven't been chewed down to bloody nubs._

"Oh yeah. I'm fine. Sorry." He smiled, quickly snapped back to the present. Back to the wonderful feeling of her perfect silky skin against his rough, calloused fingers.

"So what would you like to do? Today is all yours."

.

As per the suggestion of a certain older Banks brother, the two went to pick up bagels, then headed down to the river for a morning picnic…Adam prudently ignoring his brother's suggestion to pack a bottle of vodka for the occasion.

 _Though I suppose the Venn diagram of girls who enjoy vodka with their bagels and girls who find Scott attractive probably would form a perfect circle…_

Down by the secluded river bank, the two sat comfortably side by side, cozily curled up together under an extra wool blanket he'd brought along for staving off the morning chill. In front of them, the muddy waters of The Mighty Mississippi sparkled in the sun, and in the distance, they could see two barges passing one another as the river slowly flowed south towards the land of seersucker and blues.

"You know, you're surprisingly romantic when you want to be." Julie smiled, hoping to distract a certain preppy from the chocolate chip bagel he was nibbling on.

"Well" He blushed, setting his bagel down to wrap an arm around her waist. "I'm afraid I can't really take the credit on this one. I guess Scott's the romantic one, since it was his idea."

"Wait—what?" She chuckled, leaning into his solid body as she took in the clean, familiar scent of his cologne. "A romantic Scott? Now _that's_ the real surprise!"

"Hey now! He's got like, six kids with six different moms. It takes a certain amount of romance to pull that kind of thing off…"

 _Dang it. Why did I just say that?_

"Are you trying to get me pregnant?"

 _Crap. No, I definitely should NOT have said that!_

"Oh my gosh, no! Jesus, no! I would—I would definitely never do that! I mean, I don't even plan to have sex! Ever! Or maybe one day, but…" He quickly pulled away from her warm embrace, his face turning a deep shade of magenta as he bemoaned the fact that he'd accidentally made himself out to be an impregnating pervert.

 _Okay dumbass. You're not exactly making this better._

"Relax." Julie smiled, scooting back over towards him. "I was kidding. Besides, you are far too cute to 'never have sex ever'."

 _Oh really?_

Feeling emboldened, he leaned over to kiss her, this time continuing to lean forward after he'd brought his lips to hers, gently guiding her down until they were both lying on the ground, his long athletic body on top of hers. Placing his good arm behind her head as a pillow, he shifted his weight to his knees and elbows as he softly nibbled her bottom lip, the edge of his nose gently brushing against her perfect cheek.

Unable to resist this steamier side of Adam, Julie's hands quickly found their way up his now un-tucked oxford, her fingers caressing his smooth back.

Though his perfectly carved abs had faded away, and his back and shoulders were a bit softer than they had been two months earlier, she still found his body to be as delightful as ever. There was something about touching the warm, hidden parts normally covered by his neatly pressed shirts that gave her a sense of intimacy that she so often longed for. As she ran her fingers over his obliques, she found herself wishing that emotional intimacy could be as easy to come by as un-tucking his shirt.

.

"So…how much longer until you get to return to your one true love?"

Having finally parted from their passionate liplock long enough to come up for air, the two were lying side by side on the striped Hudson Bay blanket, staring up at the white puffy clouds. For the last ten minutes, they had been debating whether one cloud looked more like a mermaid eating soup or a giraffe riding a horse, but that cloud having drifted away, Julie was craving conversation a _little_ more substantive.

"Well, The Minnesota Club has chicken strips at lunch time, so probably in another hour or so."

Looking over, Julie weighed whether to press the issue. His evasiveness made it clear that there was _something_ he wasn't telling her.

 _Then again, what's new?_

Sighing, she decided to drop the subject. After all, they _were_ having a lovely day, and there was no use trying to force him to open up.

"That's just wrong."

"Why?"

"Because you can't order chicken strips at a place like that!"

"Oh but you can! And they're awesome!"

"You know, to be so classy, you really are kind of a dork sometimes…"

He smiled, rolling over to kiss her cheek. Wrapping an arm around her, he pulled himself in closer, savoring the feeling of being so close to her.

"And to be so smart, it apparently took you awhile to notice."

…


	22. I Really Like You a Lot

That afternoon, just as Adam and Julie were enjoying a long awaited candlelit lunch at The Minnesota Club, the more gossip inclined members of the Eden Hall student body were starting to notice that both the freshman hockey standout and his beloved girlfriend were absent from class.

Adam's absence was hardly remarkable-between the usual colds and sinus infections, and all of the days missed because of his injury and it's after-effects, he'd spent eleven days since January either snuggled up with Mr. Fluffy or flipping through magazines in doctor's office waiting rooms.

Julie, on the other hand, had maintained perfect attendance the entire school year, making her empty seat particularly conspicuous.

"Yeah" Britney whispered to Erica as they walked down the hallway together, "I heard that his parents like, totally flipped out when they heard that she was pregnant, and like, threatened to take away his trust fund if they didn't go and get it taken care of, and that it was like, a huge mess, and that her parents are wanting to sue his parents now..."

"I heard it was _her_ parents that insisted that they get the abortion, and that like, they said she'd have to become a nun after this, and that like, he'd have to become a priest or something."

"I mean, I'd be cool with her having to become a nun."

"Well, yeah, obviously, but he shouldn't have to become a priest just because she's a stupid slut! That's not fair at all!"

"Ugh, I know. The whole thing is just like, so gross! I can't even believe she'd do that!"

"Last week you said you wanted to do that..."

"Uh, yeah, but I'm not a dumbass. I'd make him use a condom. Besides, I'm not a gold digging whore."

"Nah, you're really more of a volunteer slut."

 **…...**

A mile away, Adam and Julie were back at his house, enjoying the fact that they had the palatial Tudor all to themselves for the afternoon. Their actual plans were far more innocent than any of the school's gossip mongers would have imagined, but that didn't change the fact that the dark home theatre room seemed to call both of their names. As _Billy Madison_ played on the massive screen, the two lay curled up together on the black leather sofa in the back of the room, Julie's head resting against his toned chest.

Sitting there, with his arms around the girl who he loved more than anything, Adam felt like he'd died and gone to heaven-even after four months together, he could hardly wrap his mind around the fact that someone as amazing as Julie could possibly like him in a romantic way.

However, he also suspected that if he didn't tell her how he felt soon, he really would die, the constant anxiety dooming him to an early grave.

As the two laughed at the eponymous character's antics, he knew it _was time_. After all, while _Billy Madison_ wasn't the most romantic movie ever, they had spent an entire day together. He knew what a rare luxury that was, and as busy as she stayed, he wasn't certain when he would get another chance.

 _Come on preppy. It's only three little words_.

Pulling her in tighter, he leaned down and kissed the top of her forehead, hoping that she wouldn't notice how quickly his heart was racing.

"So I just wanted you to know that I l—"

As soon as he started to talk, Julie tilted her head back until she was looking right up at him, staring into his soulful blue eyes expectantly.

There, with the only girl he'd ever loved staring right at him, and his heart pounding so hard that he could feel his pulse in his ears, he did exactly what he feared he would.

He lost his nerve.

"like you. That I really like you a lot. I think you're a really nice girl."

 _Damn it._

"Well, that's good. I like you a lot, too."

He could hear the disappointment in her voice, and suddenly he went from hearing his pulse in his ears to feeling as though his heart had decided to drop down and join his stomach, his whole being weighted down.

 _I blew it_.

For another hour, they quietly watched the rest of the movie, Julie laughing at the famous "You ain't cool unless you pee your pants" scene, but Adam too lost in his own thoughts to care.

 _I can't play hockey. I can't so much as dance around my own closet without making a dumbass of myself. My social life is non-existstent. And I can't even talk to my own girlfriend. No wonder everybody's always thinks I'm such a loser_.

.

That afternoon, after he dropped her back off at her dorm, he called and did his best to convince her to skip a second day with him. He tried and tried to come up with good reasons—that they could go to the mall, that they needed to try the new French restaurant he'd heard his mom mention, that they could go exploring downtown-but mostly, he just wanted more time with her.

He never had quite been able to shake the sinking feeling that the love of his life was slipping away from him, and more than anything, he wanted a second chance.

.

That night at dinner, all he could do was push bits of overcooked pork loin around on his plate, thinking about his many failures. A part of him knew he was probably overreacting—that Julie likely never gave their awkward moment in the home theatre a second thought—but it still replayed in his mind. It was yet another failure in his long line of failures. Another reason that she would eventually move onto someone better, leaving him to die alone, surrounded by cats of the furry, four legged variety.

"Everything okay, son?"

"Yeah, I'm just not very hungry."

"See, Scott?" Phil looked over at his older son scarfing down seconds, bits of mashed potatoes getting lost between the plate and Scott's mouth. "Now that's being sensible. If you aren't hungry, you don't eat. Might want to give it a try sometime. You could stand to lose the weight."

Adam waited for the inevitable 'fuck you', but it never came. Everyone seemed to be off in their own respective worlds for the night, a sense of resigned silence hanging in the air as the white taper candles slowly burned down.

 **…...**

Back up in his room after dinner, Adam contemplated school the next day and decided that he just _wasn't in the mood_. He wasn't in the mood to face Julie. He wasn't in the mood to listen to Crawford and Thad discuss the odds of Thad getting his mom's Mercedes C-class. He wasn't in the mood to be ignored by Charlie and the rest of the Ducks, or to memorize Civil War battles, or to eat cafeteria meatloaf that had a suspicious green tint to it. He wasn't in the mood to see Rick Riley's stupid face in the hall, or to try to ignore that sadistic smirk, or to deal with his finicky locker that never seemed to want to open.

.

"Come on, man." He pleaded into the phone, staring up at the white coffered ceiling as he lay in bed. "You know you want to."

"Well of course I want to. Breck is about as much fun as you remember. But that doesn't make it a good idea."

"Of course it does! If you want to, what's holding you back?"

Bored, Adam repositioned himself in bed until he was hanging upside down over the edge, blood rushing to his head. From his new angle, the foxhunt oil painting on the opposite wall looked as though the prim redcoated hunter was about to float through the air on his horse, and he couldn't help but think that such a scenario would make for a far better oil painting than any boring ol' fox hunt.

"I _want_ to do lots of things. I want to buy a Ferrari. I want to drop out of school and move to Tahiti. I want to touch Misty Harjek's sweater puppies. But that doesn't make any of those things good ideas."

"Come on, it's time that you live a little. I've got my dad's credit card, and you know full and well anything I come up with is going to be better than sitting through Religions of the World."

"In the short term? Yeah, fucking anything would be better. But I don't really want to grow up to be the guy who has to dance outside with the '$3.99 Pizza Buffet' sign, and _that's_ what happens to people who don't go to school."

"Oh ye of little faith. I'm sure you could at least be the guy who hands out the teriyaki samples at the food court."

"Fuck you."

"What? Everyone loves food samples! Food sample guy is the fucking Gretzky of middle aged mall workers. Besides, you owe me, cocksucker."

"How the hell do I owe you?"

 _I'm so going to hell for this._

Adam knew he was treading into dangerous territory. Still, if it meant getting Larson to skip class with him, it would be well worth it.

After all, he couldn't very well cut school alone, and the more he thought about it, the more determined he was that he was _not_ going to be facing Julie or eating cafeteria meatloaf the next day.

"Umm…who quit being my friend when I joined the Ducks? Who tripped me on the playground? I think his name rhymed with Carson?"

"That was almost five years ago!"

"They had to staple my knee shut!"

"Fuck. You know I feel bad about that. It hasn't like, given you any problems, has it?"

 _Crap_

Hearing the sincerity in his friend's voice, he couldn't help but feel bad. Guilt tripping Larson was always a sticky proposition—on one hand, the main reason it worked was because, of the three, Larson had the strongest conscience. The pitfall, though, was that _Larson had the strongest conscience_. The things that Adam and Brian accepted as being the natural order of life would haunt the shorter Hawk for weeks, making it easy to go overboard with guilt. Brian was never one to be deterred by that, but Adam had just enough of a conscience to feel bad about making his best friend feel _too_ bad.

 _After all, the world has enough assholes already_.

"Don't worry, man. I was back on the ice the next day. The scar is pretty impressive, though."

"Okay, good."

"But seriously. Tomorrow? We're doing _something_. Life is too short to be wasted sitting in class."

"Nope. You can be as self-destructive as you want, but I'm going to school like a normal ass person who doesn't want to work at the mall when I'm 40."

Just as he was wracking his brain trying to think of the perfect way to entice his favorite partner in crime, he remembered Larson's list of things he wished he could do.

 _Misty Harjek_!

Larson had been drooling over their former teammate Chad's sister since he was ten, leading to _many_ afternoons spent eating pizza rolls and playing Mario Kart at the Harjek's cramped Golden Valley duplex, while Mr. and Mrs. Harjek threw bottles of liquor at one another and smoked Pall Malls on the front porch. To Brian and Adam, the biggest draw of the Harjek household had been the thrill of watching a family unhappier than their own, but to Larson, Misty Harjek was an ephemeral goddess. Though rarely at home, the thought that she _might_ walk through the living room was enough to make Larson wish he could move in with Chad, his allergy to cigarette smoke be damned.

"But if we skip school, we can go see Misty."

The silence on the other end of the phone told Adam everything he needed to know.

They were neither one going to be at school the next day.

"How would we do that?"

"I heard Scott talking last month. The woman of your dreams is working at The Spearmint Rhino, giving $10 lap dances to guys older than her dad."

"That's horrible!"

"Of course it is. That's why we need to go see her at work. You can be her white knight, and save her from the creepy old guys."

 _Also, if that fails, boobs._

"But they don't let 15 year olds into strip clubs…"

"That's why God made fake IDs!"

On the other end, he could hear Larson laugh.

"You and Brian really didn't pay much attention in confirmation class, did you?"

"Of course we did. That was what He did on the eighth day. Don't you dumbass fucking Lutherans learn anything?"

 **…..**

The next morning, once Dr. and Mrs. Larson had left for work, Adam pulled into the cracked driveway, armed with $15, his dad's credit card, and an extra fake ID, courtesy of the less than responsible role model down the hall. The Porsche's engine idled as a lovesick Reid Larson dug his boat shoes out from under a pile of dirty clothes and checked his hair in the mirror for the fourteenth time, determined that he would rescue his princess from the world of titty tassels and light up platform heels. Adam, meanwhile, sat back against the sumptuous leather, thinking about the adventure ahead.

 _Today should be interesting..._


	23. Second Thoughts

A/N: My apologies if it seems like I'm painting Adam in too horrible of a light here. Believe me, I adore sweet, perfect Adam as much as anyone.

But alas, he is a teenage boy. A teenage boy who has, in many ways, had his life ripped apart. I think a bit of bad behavior and poor decision making is probably to be expected in such a situation. Fear not, he will eventually redeem himself:)

* * *

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Adam and Larson were sitting at the coffee shop just down the road from their houses, getting a bit of breakfast before embarking on their adventure into the city. As Adam focused on the blueberry muffin in front of him, Larson was looking down at the two fake IDs procured from Scott, shaking his head.

The first one was pretty decent…for Adam. The guy pictured bore a reasonable resemblance to the hockey player, and the height and weight listed were more or less true to Adam's actual size. It had been a surprise Christmas gift from Scott several months earlier; the elder Banks brother operating under the belief that fake IDs were as essential to middle adolescence as angry music and a hatred of one's parents.

However, due to the lack of notice the night before, Scott had improvised in coming up with the second ID, handing Adam his own expired driver's license and telling him to 'wear a hat and act tall'.

"'Good idea' is subjective." Adam pointed out, trying not to let his hesitation show. "Some people told Christopher Columbus that he was being a dumbass, but now he has a shitty town named after him, so what did they know?"

"Quite a bit. I don't want anywhere in Ohio named after me."

He nodded between bites of his muffin, conceding that Larson did have a point on that one.

"But seriously. Pretty sure any dumbass can see that I'm not _Pete Rommel,_ and that you're not a 6"4, 250 lb. brunette."

"It's called dieting. Besides, didn't your mom always say you could be anything you wanted to be?"

"I don't think she meant I could be a 21 year old from Steven's Point…"

"Then she should have been more specific."

.

Deep down, Adam was every bit as nervous as his friend—perhaps more so, since he had little to gain out of the whole plan, and far more to lose if he got caught. Though Larson couldn't see it from where he sat, Adam was drumming his fingers against the knee of his chinos as his foot jiggled uncontrollably, his frayed nerves conveniently hidden under the laminate table.

The difference was, he refused to let his hesitation show. It _had_ been his idea, and even if it hadn't, a real man never admitted to being nervous.

A memo that Larson was notorious for having not received.

 **…...**

Meanwhile, just a couple of miles away, Julie was becoming acquainted with the darker side of the Eden Hall gossip scene, discovering firsthand just how ruthless her classmates could be underneath their perfect smiles and fitted Calvin Klein t-shirts.

"Gold digging slut."

"I guess Scott's not the only one who likes to slum every now and then…"

"Why is anyone even surprised? Everyone knows that Catholic girls are easy."

It was only 8:45, and already, she was longing to be anywhere _but_ Minnesota.

The night before, during dinner in the cafeteria, she'd noticed a few strange looks and muffled whispers, but had thought little of it. Being with Connie, she figured people were talking about her and Guy's latest breakup.

As dull as Eden Hall was, pretty much anything passed for news, and students were always talking about _something_ , if only to pass the time. She imagined that whatever was being discussed was of the usual insipid variety, destined to blow over as soon as someone dropped a lunch tray or shared a juicy tidbit about an unlucky kid at Blake or Breck getting caught with a beer. Worst case scenario, people were speculating on whether she'd faked sick to buy herself an extra day on the English essay.

She didn't like the idea of being labeled a slacker, but the whole thing hardly seemed cause for concern.

However, before she'd even made it to first period that morning, it was clear that something far bigger than any English essay was going on. Girls were turning their backs and laughing as she walked to her locker, and skeevy looking boys in khakis and red letterman's jackets seemed to be undressing her with their eyes. By the time she'd made it to the school basement for first period P.E., she felt downright unclean from all of the lecherous stares, and she wished she could turn around and go back to her dorm for another shower.

"So…is it true?" A girl named Lydia asked as they stood in the locker room changing, her casual tone giving little away.

"Is what true?"

"You know. That you and Adam went _over to St. Paul_ yesterday."

 _I think The Minnesota Club is on the Minneapolis side? I really didn't pay any attention._

"I was sick in bed all day. Besides, why would anyone care if we did?"

Lydia's face scrunched up in disgust, her snout nose wrinkling as she stormed back to her gym locker two rows over, exposed butt cheeks jiggling as they hung out the back of her tiny lace panties. Inwardly, Julie had to stifle at giggle at the way the girl's cellulite bounced up and down with each haughty step, the dimpled flesh reminding her of her childhood basset's jowls whenever he ran after a tennis ball.

"You're seriously even worse than what people are saying." Another girl standing nearby added, her black ponytail bobbing as she reached into the rickety metal locker to retrieve her bottle of body spray.

 _What the hell are people saying, and why would anyone care if I went to St. Paul? It's twelve miles away!_

Finding herself enveloped in a cloud of AquaNet and cucumber melon body mist as the rest of her classmates primped for second period, Julie hurriedly threw her chambray shirt on over her tank top and walked out, her heart racing. She was doing her best to stay strong, but she could already feel tears starting to well up in her eyes, and she was desperate for a moment to compose herself before returning to the gauntlet of catty girls clutching their silver cross necklaces and perverted meatheads leering at her extremely covered breasts.

She wasn't sure what was going on, or what people were saying, but whatever it was, it wasn't good. It also wasn't blowing over, the looks and whispers seemingly growing worse by the minute.

All alone in the basement hallway, she leaned against the brightly painted cinderblock wall, slowly letting her whole body slide down to the cool linoleum. Throwing her head back, she took a deep breath as she contemplated the day ahead.

.

" _Chemistry can't come soon enough_ …" She thought, looking forward to a warm hug from her favorite hockey star.

If anyone could improve her day, it would be him. He could make anything better.

 **…...**

"Do I look okay?"

Reid Larson was staring critically at his reflection in the Porsche's vanity mirror, suddenly feeling self-conscious about his thin lips and the mild scattering of acne across his forehead. The close-up view and harsh sunlight weren't helping; his flaws now seemed far more pronounced than they had a few hours earlier, back in the olive tiled bathroom.

.

Normally, he gave little thought to such matters—a realistic boy, he'd accepted both his average looks and his middling place in Breck's social hierarchy, and had mostly made peace with the fact that his appearance was neither an asset nor a liability.

He was, alas, one of those guys who was simply _there_ : Decent looking, moderately popular, okay at sports, but not the sort that girls gossiped to their friends about or dreamed of going to homecoming with. Whereas Adam and Brian were stars, he was just an extra with a pulse and a hockey stick.

On the rare occasion that he actually managed to score a date, it generally had less to do with any great quality he possessed, and more to do with the fact that the girl was desperate and doubted that there were any better offers in the pipeline. While he would have loved for a girl to actually _like_ him for once, it was hardly the end of the world. And, as an upside, it meant that he didn't have to worry too much about details: As long as his clothes matched and his hair was combed, no girl was going to care enough to pay much attention to his pores.

.

Misty, however, was different. Misty's opinion mattered.

"You look like the same dumbass you always do."

 _That's what I was afraid of, asshole!_

"Yeah, but you know. I want to look better than the last time she saw me."

Closing the mirror, he leaned back against the tan leather, thinking about his beloved crush and how she'd always take his side when he and Chad argued over who got which video game controller. Logically, he knew that didn't mean anything, but it always gave him hope that maybe, just maybe, she could view him as something other than Chad's stupid friend.

"You were twelve the last time she saw you."

"Exactly."

"You no longer have braces, and you aren't trying to impress girls by making armpit farts. It's a low bar, but I think you've cleared it."

"Well, yeah, but I want her to see that I'm different now. That I'm a man."

 _That I'm not the same kid who cut my mouth open with a Capri Sun, or who peed myself in choir._

"You play Dungeons and Dragons, and your bed sheets have choo-choo trains on them…" Adam sighed, realizing in the harsh light of the morning that there may have been more problems with his plan than what he'd initially considered.

"Fuck you. Those sheets are awesome!"

"Yeah, they really kind of are."

.

For the next fifteen minutes, as the Porsche steadily made its way through the mid-morning traffic, Larson mentally rehearsed all of the things he would say if he actually saw Misty. Somehow, he would convince her that he was exactly the man she needed, and that they would ride off into the sunset together, living happily ever after in his childhood bedroom.

 _I'd even let her have the top bunk if she wanted._

 **…...**

As the morning dragged on, Julie found herself growing more miserable by the minute. By the end of second period, she'd finally figured out what all of the talk was about, and she half wished she could pull a J.D. from _Heathers_ , blowing up every self-righteous preppy in the place.

.

The worst part wasn't that people were saying she'd had an abortion. The worst part was the hypocrisy. The idea that she was a dirty, gold digging slut in this whole hypothetical scenario, and that Adam hadn't done a single thing wrong.

Not that she wanted him to have to go through what she was experiencing, but the lack of parity was infuriating.

 **...**

The bouncer looked at the two freshman boys for a moment, his pockmarked face impossible to read. An ID in each hand, for an agonizing thirty seconds, he glanced back and forth between the nervous suburbanites and the small, rectangular pieces of plastic. Behind him, a neon sign flashed with the promise of 'Live Nudes'.

In the background, the thumping beat of _Pour Some Sugar on Me_ was strong enough that Adam felt like his brain was vibrating up and down in his skull, the incessant pounding already starting to give him a headache.

 _What was I thinking? I could be in chemistry right now, talking to Julie._

Looking down at the urine stained concrete, the various cracks littered littered with discarded cigarette butts and amber glass from shattered beer bottles, he swallowed hard: They hadn't even made it inside yet, and already he felt dirty.

As his minded drifted back to Julie's beautiful green eyes and his nice, leafy neighborhood full of cobblestone driveways and perfectly manicured boxwoods, he knew he'd made a horrible mistake. His tidy life back in the suburbs had never sounded better, and more than anything, he longed to be back at Eden Hall. To hear his sweet girlfriend's voice asking him how his morning was going, and to feel her delicate hand in his as they walked down the hall.

"These IDs are fake."

 _Fuck._

 _What would Scott do?_

Adam looked back up, standing as tall as he could. Inside, he felt like he was about to add another urine stain to the concrete below, but he looked the bouncer in the eye, channeling every bit of cocky Hawk swagger he still had.

"No they aren't."

"Do I look like a fucking dumbass to you?" The bouncer inched closer, and Adam could feel the hot, nicotine scented breath on his cheeks as they stood face to face, their noses all but touching. "I can clearly see that your friend "Pete" here is not 6"2, and I'm pretty fucking sure you're not Scott Banks."

 _Don't act scared. Don't act scared. Don't act scared._

"Of course I am! Who are you to tell me who I am?"

The bouncer laughed, giving Adam an evil, cocky grin that the defeated preppy had already seen _far_ too many times in his sixteen short years. The bouncer's yellow teeth bared, Adam knew he was staring into the smile of an animal ready to go in for the kill.

"I went to school with him, you stupid prick."

It was at that moment that Larson finally found the courage to speak up, bound and determined to prove that he was _the man_. With the kind of blind courage that could only come from a 15 year old boy hoping to impress his crush, Larson approached the fuming bouncer with his chest puffed out and his slightly oily chin in the air.

"Do you know who his dad is?" The 5"9 strawberry blonde sneered, too enraptured by the thought of his beloved Misty to care that the bouncer had six inches and seventy pounds on him.

"Do I look like I fucking care?"

 _Do not answer that, Larson. Do not fucking answer that_.

"You don't look like you're fucking much of anything, loser."

 _Fuuuuuuuuck_

Just as Adam was contemplating how to best murder his friend, he felt a beefy hand clamp down on his bad shoulder so hard that he half feared his collarbone was going to once again snap in two, a sharp pain radiating all the way down to his fingers. Before he knew it, the bouncer had him pinned against the crumbling brick wall, an uneven bit of masonry jutting into his ribs.

"Okay, that's it. I'm calling the police on both of you stupid little cocksuckers. You can tell them all about who your daddies are. Maybe they'll be more impressed than I am."

 **…...**

 _You better be so sick right now, Adam Wailes Talbott Banks_ ….

She felt horrible for the thought, but as Julie stared at the empty wooden chair next to her, her eyes began to well with tears.

All morning, she'd been willing herself not to cry. She'd reminded herself over and over that she wasn't alone—that there was a lovely boy surely worrying himself silly over the rumors going around—and that she'd soon be reunited with him. As she thought of his fresh smelling cologne and the safe feeling of his arms around her, she didn't feel nearly as dirty and demeaned.

But now, she was sitting all alone in chemistry, and he was nowhere to be found. The same idiot who had gotten her into the whole mess was not only being valorized by the student body for what they thought he'd done, but he wasn't even at school to clear up the rumors.

Staring down at her silver Fossil watch, she thought of the lake near her house back in Maine, and the way the water glistened in the sun. Growing up, she'd made many a walk down to that lake, that cool water washing away the tears whenever her parents would fight about money, or her older brothers would ban her from their tree house, insisting that the ramshackle collection of weathered 2x4s perilously suspended five feet off the ground was for boys only.

In her head, she could hear her father's words as he dropped her off at the airport, the jovial civil engineer giving her one last squeeze in the dropoff lane before he drove off in his aging Honda, back to the world of work and bills and sons who sometimes smelled like feet.

" _Remember kiddo, if you don't like it in Minnesota, there will be lobster rolls and Bruins tickets waiting for you back here_ …"

 **…...**

"You shoved me off the roof of Garrett's parents' shed!"

"We were playing Kamikaze Pilots. It was your turn to be the kamikaze."

"I had to spend a week on crutches. Besides, the game was your dumbass idea. I didn't want to play it in the first place!"

"I can't help that you were already a pussy in first grade."

Sitting in the holding cell of the Hennepin County Juvenile Detention Center, Adam and Larson quickly found themselves trying to redistribute blame. What had started as an argument over who's fault it was that they were stuck behind bars had quickly turned into a rehash of every slight and stupid mistake of the last twelve years, no event too big or small to warrant a mention.

"You stole my favorite G.I. Joe the day before."

"Because you and Brian threw mine into the lake!"

"That was Brian's idea!"

Surrounded by nothing but concrete and steel bars, Adam winced as he carefully sat against the grey cinderblock wall, his shoulder still smarting from the bouncer's rough treatment. Pulling his knees to his chest, he wracked his brain for old slights of Larson's to bring up, doing his best to ignore the fact that so far, Larson wasn't painting just the most flattering picture of the former Hawk's actions over the years.

"What about the time you punched me in the face for wanting to be the same He-Man?"

"Seriously asshole?" Larson's voice grew louder as he sprang to his feet, staring down at Adam, still on the floor. "You want to go there? Fine. How about the time you pushed me off the slide for wanting to be the same Ninja Turtle? Or the time that you tore up my library books for telling Mrs. Orton that Brian wasn't really the one who wrote 'Nina sucks dick' on the bathroom stall? Or the time when we were reading _A Christmas Carol_ in class, and you said I should be Tiny Tim, since I know all about being short and poor? Or a week later when you put a sign on the donation bin that said 'Help the Larsons have a real Christmas this year'? Does any of that ring a bell? Because I could go on-"

"Fuck you. You're the one who stayed friends with Brian."

Larson's eyes flashed with fury as he stared down at his old friend, the hypocrisy of the statement almost too much to bear. Trying to blow off steam, he paced around the cramped cell, his fists clenched so tightly that this fingernails left crescent moon-shaped bruises in his palms.

"And you stayed friends with Jordan Ser after he kicked my ass and told the whole school I was gay. And I never _did_ anything to Jordan to make him want to break my thumb…"

"What the hell are you saying? That I deserved to have my head bashed in for living on the wrong block?"

"Oh for fucks sake, you know as well as anyone it was about a lot more than that. The only thing you switching to the Ducks changed was that it gave everyone permission to do what they'd been dreaming about for years. Coach Reilly telling him to take you out was like your dad telling Scott to go get stoned and fuck skanks."

"Fuck you, _Mr. Piss Pants_."

"You realize the whole class was bummed when they found out you weren't dead, right? I don't think I've ever seen so many people happy as that Monday morning when everyone thought Brian had killed you."

Before long, the two were rolling around on the concrete floor, their fists each pounding into the other's soft flesh. Neither was quite sure who had thrown the first punch, and neither cared. On both sides, twelve years of quiet resentments had finally found an outlet.

As Mrs. Larson arrived, both boys were still on the floor, fists flying as blood dotted the grey cell and their once tidy chinos.

 **…...**

"Miss Gaffney? Come with me, please."


	24. You Tried

….

"Reid? Adam?"

As Mrs. Larson stared at the sight in front of her, her face fell, her normally ruddy cheeks going white. There her own son was, alongside the boy she'd known since he was three, behind a set of steel bars.

Worse, the two _looked_ like criminals, trading blows in a place that smelled like body odor and urine.

"Reid! Adam!" She called out louder this time. "What on earth are you two doing?"

Suddenly, Adam looked up, and saw his beloved pre-school teacher standing on the other side of the grey bars, still in a Dr. Suess sweatshirt and the glitter painted Keds she'd worn for work that morning. As he looked down at the polka dot sneakers, he swallowed hard, the familiar sensation of having a gravel pit in his stomach returning.

.

Disappointing his dad was one thing—it felt like he did that every day.

He certainly didn't _enjoy_ getting slapped around and called a failure, but Phil rarely did any lasting damage. Plus, it all tended to end quickly. Having paid his penitence in the form of a stinging jaw or trip to the floor, father and son got to go right back to their lives, nary a lesson learned except not to get caught the next time.

Dr. Larson was a little worse in terms of guilt, but he'd mostly just shake his head and mutter "What in the fuck?" a couple of times before adjusting his reading glasses and going back to whatever he'd been doing before. Already an easygoing person, a childhood spent in all-boys schools followed by years of teaching chemistry to hungover frat guys had left John Larson impervious to the antics of his sons' friends, little short of mass murder fazing him enough to disrupt his dinner plans.

But Mrs. Larson? Mrs. Larson always smelled like cookies, and spent her days singing songs about sharing. It wasn't _nice_ to disappoint someone that nice, and letting her down felt far worse than anything Phil could do.

At once, Reid and Adam broke apart, both worse for the wear. The shoulder of Reid's favorite Calvin Klein jacket was torn, and both boys' tidy polos were splattered in blood, courtesy of the smashed noses and split lips. His once neat hair now sticking out in every direction and the knee of his khakis ripped, Adam seemed to shrink back down into the four year old she remembered as he gave her a contrite look.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Larson. It was all my fault."

"Well, I doubt that." She smiled, reaching through the bars to fix a sprig of hair and examine the light bruise that appeared to be forming along his cheek. "Are you alright?"

"Of course I am. It was Reid." He smirked, unable to resist a final dig.

"Fuck you."

"Reid!" The plump redhead scolded. "Watch it."

Just as the two were about to break into round two of arguing about who was to blame, a guard unlocked the cell door, and fists still clenched in defiance, Reid Larson wordlessly followed his mother out to the maroon Subaru in the parking lot, blood dripping from his bottom lip.

It hadn't escaped him that for the first time in twelve years, his friend had actually taken some responsibility. Still, that wasn't enough to thaw his frustration.

After all, there had been _twelve years_ of detentions and playground skirmishes that Adam had managed to pin on everyone but himself—a move that could have been seen as forgivable self-preservation, were it not for the fact that his favorite person to pin things on was Brian McGill…a kid who's dad made Phil look like Mr. Snuffleupagus by comparison. Reid had his own problems with Brian, but the dynamic still reminded him of Mayella Ewell throwing Tom Robinson to the lynch mob.

…...

"Miss Gaffney. Would you like to explain where you were yesterday?"

Sitting back against the tufted burgundy leather, Julie looked up at the vaulted ceiling for a moment, trying to keep the dam of tears from giving way. In her head, she could still hear the whispers swirling as Dean Buckley's receptionist, Ms. Pratt, pulled her out of sixth period, her tone making it clear to all involved that this was not a routine meeting to discuss PSAT scores or extracurricular scheduling.

"I-I was in my dorm room. In bed. I didn't feel well." She lied, her foot nervously tapping the oak parquet.

"I've heard stories to the contrary."

 _That's certainly one way of putting it_.

"I checked with Ms. Helmsley, the dorm mother, and she said that you weren't in your room when she did her daily check, and there's no record of you going to the infirmary…" Dean Buckley continued, the annoyance evident in his slight southern drawl.

Picking at a loose hangnail on her thumb, Julie tried to think of an excuse. Any excuse.

All she could think of, however, were the lecherous stares she'd been dealing with all day, and the fact that she'd been enduring every second of it alone, a certain forward nowhere to be found.

"I'm not going to pry into what you were _doing_ off campus all day, but I want you to know, truancy is a very serious offense, particularly for somebody on scholarship."

 _Yeah, well, you gave Charlie and Fulton four days' detention_...

"In fact," He added calmly, pausing long enough to let his words hang in the air. "It's grounds for expulsion here at Eden Hall."

Julie swallowed, trying to take the words in.

 _Expulsion_.

Suddenly, the school's gossip mill was the least of her concerns, the catty remarks, and Adam's absence all miles from her thoughts. Instead, her mind went to her 3.98 GPA, and her dreams of Dartmouth. Her dreams of a life bigger than her mother's; bigger than casseroles and worn sofas and "vacations" to Bar Harbor with four kids screaming at one another in the back of a minivan.

 _Might as well start working on that application to University of Southern Maine._

 _I hear they put in a new soda machine last year…_

"I'm going to be placing a call to your parents." Dean Buckley continued, adjusting his glasses as they started to slide down his nose. "You are also suspended for the remainder of the week. I expect to see you back in my office at eight o'clock on Monday for us to assess where to go from here."

With that, he stood to dismiss Julie, leaving her only with her thoughts as she walked back to her dorm alone, her hands still shaking as she envisioned the future disappearing in front of her.

…...

"Adam."

He'd spent the past hour sitting against the cool concrete wall, his mind a thousand miles away as a kid in the next cell over cried about missing his mother.

Try as he might, he hadn't been able to get the look on Mrs. Larson's face out of his head. The absurdity of her outfit had only made matters worse; a reminder of how hard the Larsons had worked to keep their kids from being the sorts who got arrested outside of strip clubs.

An accomplishment they could no longer claim, thanks in large part to Adam's brilliance.

Worse, he couldn't stop thinking about Julie. If Mrs. Larson had been disappointed, he could only imagine what his lovely girlfriend would have to say about everything.

.

The irony didn't escape him that, in his bid to avoid facing the prior day's awkwardness, he'd further doomed the one thing that still mattered to him. He could feel her fingers entwined with his, and smell her coconut shampoo; he could hear the disappointment in his voice as he once again failed to tell her how he felt.

" _You really did it this time, Cakeeater…"_ He thought, staring down at his salt stained boat shoes.

.

"Adam!" His dad barked louder this time, finally snapping the former hockey star back to the present. "Come on, we're going home."

With the door of the cell open, Phil grabbed his younger son by the ear and wordlessly marched him out to the parking lot, periodically giving it a good tug as he saw fit.

.

On his way over, he'd tried to think of something meaningful to say to his hurting progeny. As each unfiltered Camel burned down, he wracked his brain trying to think of any words of wisdom his own father had imparted to him during such moments…efforts that, unfortunately, were hamstrung by hisold man's tendency to communicate with his fists.

 _Heh. Maybe there was a reason the old bastard was always having to bail us out of jail._

"You know," He grumbled, finally offering the one bit of wisdom that did seem pertinent to the situation, "you shouldn't go to a strip club in the morning. The hot women work at night, when they'll get better tips. This time of day it's nothing but meth whores with tattoos of their kids' names."

Adam said nothing, staring down at the asphalt as a warm pain shot through his face with each tug.

"Also, they're hotter over at Platinum. You never take a client to The Rhino."

"You'll—you'll want to remember that if you don't end up playing hockey." He added thoughtfully, well aware that it was _his_ fault such knowledge now seemed necessary.

.

Having made it out to the car with Adam's ear mostly intact, the two rode back to Edina wordlessly, once again surrounded by the silence they had come to know so well.

Just as the two made the turn for Hennepin Ave., the silence was interrupted by the ringing of Phil's Nokia.

"What?"

"How the hell did you end up there?"

"Fucking cocksucking shithead."

All of the sudden Adam found himself flung against the door as Phil did a U-turn in the middle of the six lane road, not bothering with such pleasantries as slowing down or waiting for a stoplight.

"Damnit."

" _Damnit, indeed."_ Adam thought, rubbing the side of his temple that had connected with the passenger window.

For the next ten minutes, the two drove east, Phil providing no clarification as he lit yet another cigarette. Suburbia soon gave way to graffiti, and then to soulless interstate as the air in the car filled with tar and nicotine. Adam, meanwhile, just stared out the window, too concerned with his other problems to care _where_ they were headed.

"You're brother failed to live up to the standards of sobriety that Wisconsin holds so dear…"Phil finally grumbled a few miles outside of St. Paul. "A real fucking accomplishment, if you stop to think about it."

Adam never said a word, simply reclining back in his seat.

" _You can take the family out of Flint_ …"

.

As certain as he appeared on the outside, inside, Phil was aware that none of his more esteemed colleagues had ever had to bail two of _their_ kids out of two different jails in a single morning. _Their_ kids were all talking about going to law or medical school, nary a drug dealer or pugilistic sixeen year old in the bunch.

" _Not even Dave, and he has enough to field a damn football team."_ He thought, picturing the family photos on his Mormon co-worker's desk, eleven perfect, smiling children in tastefully coordinated black sweaters and khakis.

 _Proportionately, that guy should have at least two or three in jail on a good day…_

Looking back over at Adam, he remembered the way that his younger son's face had lit up the first time he'd stepped out onto the ice as a toddler, and how in his first game, he'd held his own against boys who were three years older and twice his size. He remembered the family trips to the beach, and the way that Adam had been too scared to go into the water unless he could sit up on his dad's shoulders, and the way that after Susan died, he spent the next six months asking why she hadn't come back yet.

He had always been the one to make him worry.

.

Scott was a nightmare, but he was a nightmare that Phil understood. From day one, he was a bulldozer in pastel Izod, determined to make the world bend to his whims. While other kids were smarter or better looking, nobody was better than Scott at getting what they wanted; the husky dyslexic forever plowing through life on a combination of charm and clueless bravado.

Adam, on the other hand, had both far more and far less going for him. If Scott was forever building a house with no tools and no plan, Adam seemed too busy obsessing over the blueprints and AIA contracts to get anything done.

Studying the boy sitting next to him, his head leaned against the window, Phil took in the way that his long, lean figure now filled the entire seat. He took in the bloodied polo, and the cast over his arm, and the section of sandy hair in back that still didn't lay quite the way it had before. He took in the serious expression on his face; the look of grim defiance that he'd come to know so well. Taking it all in, he had no choice but concede that his parenting hadn't helped matters, years of shouting and stinging criticism hardly _helping_ the younger Banks' confidence.

 _Besides, you take risks to make it to Edina. You don't take them to stay here_.

"I wasn't that great of a parent, was I?" He finally muttered, staring into the horizon ahead.

As he watched the sun descend into the trees, he understood all too acutely that dusk was coming in more ways than one, the decades having passed faster than he'd realized.

Twenty two years of parenting come and gone. Twenty two years of mistakes all come to fruition, with little left that he could do about it.

"You tried." Adam answered, shrugging lightly.

"Yeah. I did." Phil quietly agreed, still staring into the horizon as he exhaled another drag off his cigarette.

"Thanks."


	25. A Family of Mongolians

_Ring_

No answer.

 _Ring_

No answer.

 _Ring_

No answer.

 _Ring_

" _Come on, Adam_." Julie thought, her eyes welling with tears as she cradled the earpiece against her shoulder _. "If you're going to get me expelled and ruin my life, the least you can do is answer the stupid phone."_

 _Ring_

No answer.

 _Ring_

 _Asshole._

For the last six hours, Julie had felt like she was trapped on a rollercoaster, her feelings fluctuating from minute to minute. After a tearful hour-long conversation with her parents, followed by an endless string of calls and visits from her fellow Ducks, she'd lost count of how many times she'd gone from scared to heartbroken to hopeful.

Now nearly nine o'clock, Julie sat in bed surrounded by a cornucopia of trashy magazines and bad junk food her friends had brought by in an effort to lift her spirits. Still, what she needed was _not_ Cosmo's 17 Sizzling Sex Tips or a plate of cupcakes stolen from the dining hall.

"Still not answering?"

Connie looked over at her roommate, her brown eyes filled with concern.

"Nope."

"He doesn't deserve you, you know."

"I don't know…"

"Okay, seriously Jules." Connie continued, running a hand through her flowing chestnut locks. "I mean, I love the guy as much as the next person, but take away his fancy car and his absurdly good abs, and what do you have?"

"Guy?"

"Heh, point well taken. This might be a sign we need to run away and join a convent…"

"I just…this isn't like him. Whatever happened to nice, normal Adam?" Julie mused, pulling her knees into her chest as she leaned against the wall behind her.

"I don't think 'normal' is the word I've ever used to describe him…"

"True.

"Well, whatever happened to nice Adam?"

Connie sat quietly for a moment, chewing on a piece of cherry Twizzler as she contemplated what to say.

"Linda went to Breck with him, you know.

"I…don't get the impression that he was ever that nice of a guy. I mean, from the sounds of things, he just kind of went from being horrible to being _okay_ , but I don't think anyone there ever really considered him that great of a person. And they…they all knew him a lot longer than any of us have."

"Yeah, but like, did Linda like _anyone_ at Breck?"

"Well, judging from the time that Charlie got all pissy about the Larson thing, she didn't dislike _him_."

"Okay, that's just weird." Julie laughed, reaching for a Twizzler herself.

 _Then again, I'd probably still take Larson over Charlie_.

 _Maybe._

"I just…I don't know."

"I don't, either. Boys are complicated."

"Yes they are."

* * *

"Damnit, Scott. How did I raise such a worthless fucking dipshit?"

Over the course of the three hour ride back from Wisconsin, Phil had lost track of _new_ ways to insult his oldest son. As such, the whole thing had taken on an endless loop quality, with the same argument repeating every half hour.

" _How are you such a worthless fucking dipshit?"_

" _Go to fucking hell."_

" _Don't talk to me that way, cocksucker."_

" _You're the fucking cocksucker, you fat fuck."_

And on it would go, both sides demonstrating an admirable lack of self-awareness in their insults. All the while, Adam sat in the backseat, quietly contemplating what he was going to tell Julie as the war raged on three feet ahead.

" _Looks like it's just going to be Mr. Fluffy and I. Together forever."_ Adam thought, learning back against the passenger side door in an effort to get comfortable. Rolling up his jacket to use as a pillow, he spread out across the leather seat and shut his eyes, hoping to drown out the world around him.

"Fat fucking disappointment."

"Washed up asshole."

"Dickhead."

"Fuckface"

"Asswipe faggot"

…

That night, the Banks family arrived home around 11:30, Scott and Phil hoarse after the hours spent yelling at one another between drags off unfiltered Camels. Adam, meanwhile, retreated to his room, well aware that the next day wouldn't be any _better_.

As he lay in bed, staring up the ceiling, his stomach rumbled. The way that his day had unfolded, breakfast with Larson ended up being his last meal, and the morning's chocolate chip bagel had worn off hours earlier. Still, that was the least of his problems.

The emptiness that he felt at the prospect of losing Julie far outweighed the discomfort of a rumbly tummy. Rolling over, he reached for the bottle of Vicodin on his nightstand, hoping that it could quiet his racing thoughts.

Hoping he'd forget that there was nothing left in his life.

…..

The next morning, he put on a brave face. Trying to silence the dread he felt inside, he put on his favorite khakis and a buttery yellow oxford that fit in all of the right places. As he combed his hair and ate his breakfast of toast and coffee, he told himself that he was overreacting. That Julie would probably never even find out about the strip club incident.

 _Of course, she'll still eventually figure out that you're a loser with no future, but with any luck, she won't figure that out until hockey starts back up next year._

Grabbing a to-go cup of coffee, he headed out the door, determined to make the most of whatever time he had left.

" _Today's going to be just fine_." He assured himself as he awkwardly fished for his car keys, coffee in hand. _"Just fine indeed._ "

…

"Yeah, no. Just go back to Breck. Ruin _their_ lives."

He could feel the warmth on his hands and chest from a few moments earlier, from when Portman had "accidentally" knocked into him, drenching him with his own coffee. Looking down, his shirt was now soaked from the brown liquid, his goal of looking nice for the day over before it had even begun.

Portman had simply walked away with no apology, leaving the former hockey star with stained clothes and scalded fingertips. The _explanation_ came a minute later, as he saw Connie walking to first period without her roommate.

"What the hell, Connie? I said I was sorry."

"Sorry doesn't fix anything, Adam. Besides, where were you when she was crying her eyes out last night? Because _that_ might have been a better time for 'sorry'."

 _Well, first I was in jail, and then I was going to pick my brother up from jail_ …

 _Probably not an explanation that's going to help my cause_.

"I was tied up with a family emergency.

He rubbed at the back of his neck, staring down at his stained oxford and boat shoes. "Look, I know 'sorry' isn't what you want to hear, but that's all I can offer right now. Tonight when my dad gets home, I'll have him make a few calls and we'll get the rest straightened out then."

Connie sighed, turning to walk away.

"You just don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?"

"You don't live by the same set of rules everybody else does. For like, the last three months, you've just come to school when you felt like it, done homework when you felt like it, and in general, done whatever you've felt like doing. That isn't the real world—not for the rest of us. It's your life, and you can do what you want, but you can't go around screwing up Julie's life in the process. That's not right."

 _Yeah. That's exactly what I've been doing._

 _Fucking bitch._

He could feel the combination of guilt and anger bubbling up inside: On one hand, he did feel horribly guilty about what he'd put Julie through. On the other hand, it always seemed like the people with the least room to talk about _fairness_ did it the most.

"We skipped school for one fucking day. You're acting like a bigger drama queen than Linda and Charlie."

"They're talking about _expelling_ her. And on a side note, making fun of Linda and Charlie right now is kind of an asshole move, considering what you did."

"Again, you stupid fucking bitch. She's not getting _expelled_. I'll have my dad give the dean a call and everything will be fine."

Connie's jaw dropped, her eyes going wide with disbelief.

" _What_ did you just call me, you cakeeating prick?"

"Well, I did call you a stupid fucking bitch, but I was trying to be nice, so I left out the 'trashy slut' part. You're welcome to insert that part back in there, though, if you'd like."

For a brief, glorious moment, Adam felt quite satisfied with himself, waving goodbye as Connie stood there in shock. Finally processing that this was an actual conversation that had actually occurred, she stormed off across the quad.

"Have a nice day. Don't fall on a dick." He shouted behind her, happy to get an extra word in for good measure.

For the first time since Julie had left his house two days earlier, he felt _good_.

He had _won the argument_.

Turning back towards class, there was a new lightness in his step, content that justice had been served.

.

" _You know boys_ ," He could hear Dr. Larson's familiar lecture in the back of his mind. _"There's such a thing as winning the battle but losing the war_."

Making his way past the rows of limestone buildings, Dr. Larson's words grew louder as the pit in his stomach grew.

The birds above chirping, he shook his head.

 _Pretty sure I just lost the war_.

…..

The rest of the day, he did his best to avoid his fellow Ducks, taking safety in the gaggle of Guys With Roman Numerals After Their Names. Surrounded by Crawford and Thad and Parker and Tripp and an assortment of other guys who lived in crappy McMansions and took solace in the fact that their dads wore suits to work every day, he was able to make it through the next eight hours without any real Duck contact at all, even the Portmans of the world hesitant to go up against his wall of pastel.

Instead, he politely smiled and nodded at stories about making out with some girl at Mackinac Island, or coming in under parr at the ECC. All the while, he did his best to ignore the dirty looks and stony silence coming from his former teammates. To ignore Connie's tear swollen eyes in second period, and the empty seat next to him in chemistry.

Hour by hour, the hole inside him grew, him wishing that it would finally just devour him so that he could get a break from his own life. With every mindless story about about stealing a bottle of Tanqueray from the Halsey's liquor cabinet or making it to second base with some girl named Hollis, he felt more and more empty inside, consumed with the realization that without hokcey or Julie or his _friends_ , this was all his life would ever again hold.

That he too would spend the next decade with no greater goal than getting a blowjob in the back of some girl's dad's Yukon, followed by forty more years of being the guy trying to _pay_ for the Yukon and Tanqueray and country club membership.

.

The final bell of eighth period ringing, he contemplated going by the girls' dormitory to talk to Julie. His books packed, he got up and left, walking by Roosevelt Hall on his way out to the parking lot.

At one point, he turned and made his way up the front steps of the three story building, actually mustering the courage to knock at the door for somebody to let him in. However just as one of the freshman clarinet players walked towards the door, his nerves got the better of him, and he retreated back down the steps without a word.

After all, what he was going to tell Julie? That he was sorry that he hadn't been there for her the day before because he was too busy beating up his friend in a jail cell? That he hadn't _meant_ to call Connie a trashy slut? The harder he thought about his words, the more he realized he was facing a lost cause; no apology quite capturing situation. Instead, he simply made his way to his car, his mind still swimming with the hopelessness of it all.

 _I have nothing left._

 _No hockey._

 _No friends._

 _No Julie._

 _No future_.

At one point, he could her Charlie call out for him, but he continued on, not even bothering to turn around.

 _Just another person to tell me how much I've ruined everything_.

.

A mile away, his afternoon only continued to devolve, seeing Phil's Mercedes parked in the driveway as he arrived home. Before he could even make it inside, his gut told him that he dad wasn't home at three in the afternoon to spend quality time with his sons…a suspicion that was confirmed by the stench of cigarette smoke that had filtered into the foyer. The closer he came to his father's study, the stronger the smell became, until he he opened the mahogany door and coughed, the nicotine and tar having replaced any traces of oxygen in the room.

His eyes watering from the smoke, he looked over and saw his dad sitting around in just a bathrobe and his underwear, a bottle of scotch in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

 _Fuck me_.

"Whatdoyouneed?" He muttered, staring down at an old family photo on his desk.

"Julie…Julie's in trouble."

"Damnit," Phil sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. "Did you get girl pregnant, just like your stupid brother? How hard is it for you two fuckwads to just use a fuckin' condom? Or I don't know, Seran wrap or something. Anything, really…"

"Eww.

"And no, not that kind of trouble. She's expelled."

"The fuck?"

"From skipping school. With me."

"God. You stupid sonabitch." Phil sat down his drink down and pinched the bridge of his nose, a look of resignation replacing the usual anger he was known for. "How do you fuck up every single thing you do? This whole damn family…you're like a bunch of Mongolians or something, except Mongolians don't go around ruining everybody's lives."

A part of Adam felt tempted to point out the term was 'Mongoloid', not 'Mongolian', and that moreoever, neither one was appropriate. Already too depressed to care about being shoved into another door frame or having his lip split open, he started to open his mouth. Looking at Phil sitting there in just a plaid bathrobe, though, the scars from last year's triple bypass visible, he realized with defeat that there was nothing to say.

Phil was right.

They were a family of life ruining _Mongolians_ ; four people doomed to wallow in their own dysunction until the sweet embrace of death finally decided to take pity on them all.

Turning around, he walked wordlessly out the front door and got in his car, hoping that a drive would clear his head. Hoping that something—anything—would start to make sense.

.

For mile after mile, suburbia passed on, the endless backroads of Edina and Minnetonka and Wayzata seeming to stretch on for forever. Passing subdivision after subdivision, the sun ahead began to set, nothing in life becoming any clearer.

Before long, one hour had turned to two, and the familiar suburbs had been replaced by far flung locales he'd barely heard of; big gated subidivisions giving way to random bungalows and double wides that dotted the highway. Raindrops started to pound the windshield, and the roads grew darker, yet the further he got from Edina, the less sense he saw in going back.

After all, there was nothing there for him.

The windshield wipers sweeping back and forth, back and forth, his life seemed to play in a loop through his head, sixteen years of memories all flooding to the surface. His Porsche seemed to careen down the road on autopilot, slowly picking up speed as his mind became less focused on the twists and turns ahead than the thoughts he'd spent so much time trying to quiet.

.

He was five, and hiding under the bed at his parents' lake house. The room was dark, and he was sandwiched between a splintery oak floor and an antique bedframe, his body shaking with fear as a warped floorboard dug into his chest. Downstairs, he could hear terrified screams and gun blasts as bullets pierced through the living room, the cicadas outside chirping, oblivious to the terror unfolding mere feet away.

Earlier that day, his father had gotten the call that a business deal had fallen through. Three hours and a bottle of scotch later, he was pacing through the modest lake house with an AR-15 in hand, rambling about how he didn't want anyone in the family to live through what he was living through. As he turned his sights on Bunny, Scott grabbed Adam and snuck upstairs to a guest room, where he quietly locked the door, turned off the light, and hid both of them underneath the old bed. Downstairs, they could hear the argument raging, at one point punctuated by a series of gunshots as Phil started shooting at the picture frames on an end table. Scott pulled him in closer, neither boy sure if their parents would still be alive when they went back downstairs.

.

He was seven, and curled up on the bench outside the principal's office crying, a cone shaped party hat still on his head as he sobbed into his khakis. It was 4:30, and his mother still hadn't come to pick him up from school. She was supposed to be there at two, to bring cupcakes for his birthday. He'd sat in class for over an hour, watching the minutes on the clock tick by, expecting her to walk in any minute with an arm full of rainbow frosted, funfetti cupcakes. Minute after minute passed, the whole time telling himself that she was probably just stuck in traffic, or that maybe she'd gone to the store to get his favorite sprinkles. Finally, at 3:15, the bell rang. He went to wait outside with all of his classmates, expecting that any moment she'd arrive full of hugs and apologies and promises to bring even yummier cupcakes the next day.

One by one, all of his friends' smiling mothers arrived in their shiny Audis and Volvos, until he was left sitting all alone on the concrete. As the rain began to pour, the principal brought him inside while she called his house, and then his father's office. It was dark by the time anyone arrived, and for 20 minute ride home, all he could do was cover his ears in the backseat as Phil shouted obscenities into the car phone, sleet and freezing rain pelting the windshield.

.

Soon, he was ten, and his father had just shoved him through the Mies Van Der Rohe table. He could feel the warm, sticky blood pouring down his leg, and the sharp pain from where a shard of glass had sliced through the back of his thigh. The pool of crimson down at his feet was growing by the second, yet his mother and father stood five feet away, cursing at one another over the damaged coffee table.

A minute later, Scott walked through the door. Horrified by the scene unfolding in front of him, he grabbed a towel and rushed the bleeding fourth grader to the hospital. Sixty-three stitches later, Phil and Bunny were still standing there in the living room. Still surrounded by blood, arguing about Bunny's beloved coffee table.

.

He was eleven, and biting his lip not to cry after Ben Morgan dumped a lunch tray of food over his head. Chocolate pudding and pineapple juice slowly dripped down his face as the rest of the school looked on, the laughter echoing through the cafeteria.

The day before that, he'd cut his knee open on a piece of metal sticking up from a railroad tie when Larson tripped him on the playground after school, and the day before _that_ , Brian had given him a black eye during gym. His face still throbbed every time he started to smile, and with five staples in his knee, it was hard not to limp. Still, those things weren't bad. Cuts and bruises were par for the course for any self-respecting hockey player. _Pudding_ , on the other hand, was not.

.

Before long, he was 13 and clutching onto Mr. Fluffy as a trainer walked towards him with a giant needle in hand.

He was scared.

He remembered the meeting with the specialist three days earlier—the one with gentle hands and concern in his eyes as he explained the risks of playing through such an injury. He remembered the look the doctor gave his father when Phil tried to insist that all his son needed was Vicodin and a set of balls; his final words as they walked out of the plush office still ringing in his head.

"Mr. Banks. Please. Remember that your son is going to have to live with all of this long after the game has been forgotten."

He remembered the trainer's icy hands, and the jolt of pain as he grabbed Adam's arm with all of the grace normally reserved for farm animals. He remembered trying to swallow back tears as his father's voice echoed off the concrete.

"Quit being a fucking pussy."

.

He was 15, his naked body being held down on the cold concrete floor of the varsity locker room, Cole's chubby forearm pressed firmly against the back of his neck as he struggled to breathe. He focused on the peeling red paint of a locker nearby, and the spatter of blood from his nose on the concrete below, trying not to think about what was happening to him.

He'd tried to fight back.

When Rick had grabbed him by the coat on his way out the door ten minutes earlier, he could tell from the sadistic glint in the forward's eye that he needed to get away. He'd fought back with everything he had, but it had been to no avail. All that he had to show for his struggles were a bruised hand and a twinge in his back that would flare up at inopportune times; a minor but lasting reminder of an afternoon that he would have been just as happy to forget.

.

He was still 15, and being labeled a traitor by his friends. After four years of defending the rest of the Ducks to the Garretts and Crawfords and Thads of the world; after four years of surreptitiously paying for lunches and finding "extra" coats or pairs of Nikes in his closet after Charlie's stepdad got laid off at the dock; after quietly taking the worst of Varsity's "hazing" in hopes that it would spare everyone else from the brutality of Rick and his cronies, he was still nothing but a rich snob who'd had everything handed to him. As Charlie's fist connected with his lip in front of the goalpost, he knew full and well that if Guy had been the one to make Varsity, nobody would have doubted _his_ loyalty.

.

 _Fuck._

A jolt coursed through his body as the Porsche struck the edge of a guardrail, his athletic frame thrown forward.

Before he could fully process what was happening or what he had done, the 911 catapulted into the air, the laws of gravity temporarily suspended his car summersaulted through space. Looking out the windshield in horror, he realized all too late what a mistake he'd made, the moon reflecting off his watery grave below.

.

The people around him didn't necessarily love _him_ , but he still loved them, and there were a lot of things he needed to do.

He thought of his parents, and the mother he had before Susan died; the one he'd seen in seen in the old home movies, reading the Berenstein Bears to him on the couch as he snuggled up in her lap. He thought of the father behind the camera; the one who'd apparently thought those moments were worth capturing.

He thought of Larson, and the chilly Saturday afternoons spent together at the Mariucci Arena, cheering on the Golden Gophers as they gorged themselves on Twizzlers that Dr. Larson had snuck in. He thought of the car rides back to Edina—all of the glorious hours spent over the years in the back of that Subaru wagon, he and Reid being as loud and gross as they liked while Dr. Larson sang along with Billy Joel hits and took everyone through the Krispy Kreme drive-thru. In _those_ moments, there was no Hawk machismo to maintain, nor anyone to yell at him for not being good enough. He was simply a kid, hanging out with his best friend.

He thought of Julie, and how she wouldn't have a lab partner for chemistry anymore. Sure, she hated him now, but it always gave him horrible anxiety if his partner in a class was absent. Being reassigned as the third person to a pair that already had a comfortable routine made him feel like his stomach was in knots; like there just wasn't quite enough air in the room.

He wasn't sure if Julie had that problem, too, but if she did, he didn't want to put her through that.

 _Julie_.

As he stared into the dark abyss below, he realized that Cole and his buddies were still juniors.

Suddenly, the lab partner issue seemed trivial. He _had_ to live.

The icy river coming closer by the millisecond, he found himself praying harder than he ever had before. He didn't care what happened to him—he didn't care if he'd ever play hockey again. He didn't care if he'd ever _walk_ again. But he had to live.

 _Please God. Plea—_

The next thing he knew, he was enveloped in the icy river, water filling his mouth and nose. His senses were scrambled, and his heart was pounding so loudly in his ears that he couldn't think. He strained against the seatbelt, trying to free himself. Trying to get to a place where he could once again breathe. No matter what he did, though, he was stuck, trapped against the leather seat.

 _Don't let me die._

Just as the pounding in his ears started to muffle, and the world around him began to quiet, he remembered that he hadn't unclasped his seatbelt. As soon as he pushed the button down, he found himself released from his captor, somehow finding the strength to swim through the shattered window and up to the cold night above.

In a haze, he struggled his way to shore, desperately trying to catch his breath. Dragging his battered body, he made it to the muddy river bank just as the world around him went black, collapsing face down into a pile of mud and rocks as the world went dark.


	26. Still Alive

Julie sat curled up in a club chair at the back of the library, a lime green photo album sitting in her lap.

All day, she'd been trapped in her dorm, with no classes or homework to distract her from everything. As Connie and the other Ducks had gone to class, she'd been left with nothing but her thoughts—nothing but the words of her snotty classmates, and the visions of her future slipping away. With every passing hour, the walls seemed to further close in on her; the silence growing louder.

Now past eight, the dorms were again full, and Julie realized that she should have been more careful what she wished for.

…

The only thing lonelier than an empty dorm was a crowded one, full of people whose lives were all going by without her. Desperate for an escape—any escape—she had snuck off to the library, eager to once again be alone in a back corner. Away from Connie and Guy, and the flirty looks they were giving one another as they studied for a math test. Away from Charlie, and his well-meaning assurances that everything would be alright. Away from that beige plastic dormitory telephone that refused to ring, and from that wooden door that never seemed to have the right person standing on the other side.

 _Not that I want to see him, anyway._

 _Jerk_.

…

Looking down at the photo album, she smiled at a photo of her and her best friend Allison back at home, trying on the XXXXXL muumuus at Walmart, and the picture of her and her family at a Bruins game, Shawn elbowing Jeff in the face just as their mom snapped the picture. She giggled at the folded up piece of notebook paper tucked away behind a vellum sleeve, remembering the story her and Katie had written together at a slumber party; each person writing one sentence at a time.

What had started off as a romance about Katie marrying her crush ended up transforming into a story about two of the prissy girls back in Bangor being eaten alive by the Keebler elves.

Julie had been quite proud of her contribution.

Before long, she was staring at a photo of her and Adam at the campout after the Goodwill Games, Adam proudly holding up a ½ lb. fish he'd caught.

.

She still remembered the way that he beamed with pride at his "accomplishment", followed by the look of panic when he locked eyes with the tiny bass, writhing back and forth in search of oxygen. He ended up freeing the fish as quickly as he could, accidentally dropping him on the ground twice before he could get it back in the water.

In all, his joy had lasted roughly 30 seconds before giving way to panic and guilt at what he'd put the poor fish through. Still, that 30 seconds was long enough for her to seize the excuse for a picture with her crush; their happiness forever immortalized as they stood side by side, Arrowhead Lake shimmering in the background.

.

Quietly, she shut the photo album and tucked it away in her backpack. Leaning back against the club chair, she stared out at the empty library in front of her for a few minutes, before finally getting up to head back to her dorm.

No matter where she went, there was no escaping life.

* * *

 _I'm not dead_.

Groggy though he was, Adam remembered enough about his last thoughts to know that he'd gotten his wish. Staring up at white walls and a bright florescent light, he was, at the very least, _not dead_.

At about the same time, all of the pain came flooding into his consciousness—there were so many things that hurt in so many ways that he couldn't begin to make sense of it all—but he didn't care. He knew that he was still alive.

The rest could be dealt with later.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Inhaling, he felt a sharp pain in his abdomen, and he realized that no matter what he did, he couldn't quite get enough air. Too tired to open his eyes again, he lifted his hand and felt around, trying to get some inventory of the situation. Touching his belly, he winced.

Opening his eyes, he saw a long row of metallic staples, stretching from below his belly button to the bottom of his chest, and next to that, a plastic tube coming out from between his ribs.

 _Fuck_.

Glancing around further, he realized that his knee was swollen to the size of a basketball; his left shoulder so sliced and diced from the broken window that nary any skin remained. Investigating the throbbing in his face, he could hear the crunching of glass embedded in his cheek, and he felt the thin row of stitches going down the side of his nose, courtesy of a piece of plastic that had once been part of the Porsche's interior.

Imagining what he must look like, he let out a sigh, mourning the end of his even average looks.

Still in a groggy haze, he then drifted right back to sleep, happy not to think _too_ much about what lie ahead of him.

He was still alive. That was what mattered.

* * *

"Nope, no missed calls."

"None?"

"None."

Connie sat back on her bed, filling out the 'What Kind of Girlfriend Are You?' quiz in that month's Seventeen. At her side was a bag of potato chips and a diet Coke, the slim brunette hoping that the two would balance one another out.

 _I mean, they are supposed to be low fat…_

"My dad didn't call?"

"Nope."

"And neither did my mom?"

Stumped on a question about whether she'd rather go to a dog show or monster truck rally, she looked back up at her roommate, still standing by the doorway in her jeans and Calvin Klein sweatshirt, hands in her pockets.

One look at Julie's face, and she knew that Mr. and Mrs. Gaffney weren't _really_ the phone calls her friend wanted to know about.

 _Selfish prick_.

"Look, boys are gay, okay? And he's like, the gayest of them all."

"Well, yeah, but…" Julie sat down on the bed herself, reaching for one of the potato chips.

"Just…don't worry about it."

"I'm not worried."

"I know. Just…don't. Because seriously, it's like, not worth it."

"Boys _are_ seriously gay."

"Seriously."

"We should become nuns."

"Definitely. I mean, think about it—with those outfits, we'd never have to do our hair again, and I could eat all of the potato chips I want, and nobody would know the difference."

"Exactly!"

Laughing, Connie set down her magazine and put an arm around Julie. Curled up together, the two continued to discuss the benefits of joining a convent, both happy to forget about their other problems for a moment.

After all, boys would come and go. But one another? They'd always have that…no matter how gay the boys around them insisted on being.

* * *

"You okay man?"

Twelve hours later, the haze of the drugs had finally worn off enough for coherent thought. At his bedside sat Scott, the husky brunette's eyes still red and tear swollen.

"Never been better." Adam deadpanned. "I'm going to go try my hand as a Ralph Lauren model tomorrow."

Scott cracked a smile, a bit of glow returning to his cheeks.

"You laugh, but you totally just scored yourself a lifetime of pussy. I mean, explaining that you drove your Porsche off a bridge? That's the kind of shit that drops panties."

"Have you thought about becoming a philosopher?"

"Fuck you, dildo breath."

"Fag muncher."

"But like, seriously—" Scott paused, scratching the back of his head as he thought about what he wanted to say. "Lots of shit, lots of shit's embarrassing. Explaining to chicks that I busted my face open slipping in my own piss? That's…not really getting anyone naked. You don't want to do that, if you can avoid it. But this? It may not seem like it, but _this_ is going to be a pretty good story in a couple years."

"Thanks dude."

"Seriously, though. Whatever you were doing man, don't do it again. You scared the shit out of me."

"Sorry."

"It's cool. I…don't really know what you were doing, but if you ever want to like, talk or whatever, I'm here."

"The road was wet."

Scott nodded, and for a moment, the two just sat in silence.

"I tried to hang myself once." Scott added. "Just, ya' know, so you'll know.

"It's…it's not a good idea. I don't want you to do the same thing."

…

Later that afternoon, Larson came by, still sporting a black eye and split lip from their fight two days prior. His hands buried in the pocket of his Breck Hockey hoodie, he shook his head as he looked his best friend up and down, processing what had happened.

Processing how close he'd come to losing the one person who he trusted with every dorky secret.

"Do hospitals have some kind of like, 'stay five nights, get the sixth night free' program or something? Because I feel like you're racking up a lot of rewards points here…" Larson finally joked, the concern evident in eyes.

"Yeah, I was planning to donate them to you. That way you can get that sex change you always wanted."

"Drive off a bridge, and you still can't think about anything but my dick…"

"Well, yeah, it's just so small. It's hard to stop thinking about something so tiny."

"Dude, you know I had to have Dick Reduction surgery. Just got so old tripping over it every day, having girls play jump rope with it…"

"You realize this is why you're _never_ going to get laid, right?" Adam pointed out, starting to laugh before doing so sent another wave of pain shooting through his body.

 _Damnit Larson_.

"Yeah, my dad says the same thing.

Shifting the weight back and forth from the balls of his feet, Larson stood by the bed, his hands in his pockets as he stared down at the floor.

"I'm uh, I'm sorry about the other day." He added, focusing on the specs in the linoleum. "And you know, the stuff I said. I didn't mean any of it."

"I didn't, either." Adam replied, doing his best to fight back the tears that were welling up in his eyes.

Being alive was kind of nice. As was still having his best friend.

"So…are we cool?"

"Of course, man. I'm—I'm sorry, too. I didn't mean to screw things up or whatever."

No longer staring at the floor, a smile overtook Larson's face, even as his cheeks flushed magenta.

"You…kinda' didn't."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, uh," Larson stuttered for a moment, his face turning pinker. "I got the courage to call Misty."

"How did that go?"

"How do you think it went?" Larson laughed, running a hand through his fringe. "Turns out she's not really into fifteen year olds. Or dudes. So…really kinda' bombed it on that one.

"But then yesterday at school Shanda heard all about how we ended up in jail, and like, we got to talking, and she thought it was cool and shit, so I asked _her_ out."

"Shanda Zehmer?"

"Yeah. I really like her. We spent like, an hour on the phone last night until my mom yelled at me for being grounded."

" _Nice_."

"Yeah. I think she's like, a _real_ girlfriend."

…..

For a few minutes, the two didn't really say anything; Larson sitting down in a chair next to the bed and taking command of the TV remote. As he flipped through the channels, Adam did his best to get comfortable, making a mental note not to drive off any other bridges.

"So your mom ungrounded you long enough to come visit?"

"Heh, yeah dude." Larson laughed, "I mean, I'm grounded for like, the next three or four centuries, but the whole 'you almost dying'-thing kind of took precedence."

Looking down at his swollen knee that was propped up on a pillow, Adam shrugged.

"No offense, but isn't that kind of a dumb thing to unground someone for? I mean, I'm not exactly going anywhere soon. Like, 'Hey, what's Adam doing tonight?' Laying in bed with a tube up his dick. 'What's Adam doing tomorrow?' Laying in bed with a tube up his dick. 'What's Adam doing next week?' Probably still fucking laying in bed."

"See. _That_ kind of logic is why my mom teaches pre-school. And why you're kind of an asshole."

"I'm just looking at the situation realistically."

"Lets just say I don't think you'd last very long at Hallmark."

"No shit. That would be a pretty lame job."

…..

Later that evening, word spread to Faribault, and Garrett Brown and Jordan Ser called to wish him well.

In the background, Brian could be heard yelling 'tell him to suck my dick', followed by an argument between him and Garrett over whether that sounded 'all homo-y and shit'.

Scott came back by, delivering a cornucopia of fast food and the latest copy of Playboy 'in case he got bored'. Phil came by a few minutes later; staying just long enough to shake his head and sigh at what a moron his eldest son was.

And then, the world turned quiet.

Scott vanished off into the abyss of downtown, finding slower, subtler ways to continue his failed plan of years before. Phil went back to his gleaming office, staring out over the city as he tried to work. Garrett and Jordan went back to their homework, and Brian went back to wishing he _understood_ his homework.

There were no more phone calls. No more visits.

As Adam stared up at the television, he tried not to think about the people who _hadn't_ been by.

About the fact that those people wouldn't be coming.

The Ducks were gone.

Julie was gone.

And unlike Larson, those people wouldn't be coming back.


	27. Three Little Words

"Wait. What?"

Guy sat next to Erica Tate in third period English. Moments before, he'd been scrambling to find his homework from the night before, when he heard Erica say something that caught his attention.

"Yeah, I heard it from Kristin who heard it from Stephanie, who heard it from her cousin who used to date Jordan Ser but who I don't think is dating Jordan Ser anymore, because she says that Jordan has a small dick and smells like cheese even though I don't think he smells that much like cheese."

 _I always thought the guy smelled like cheese._

 _Nice to know about the dick, though._

"So what happened?"

"He drove off a bridge over in Buffalo."

"Is he…okay?"

"I mean, I guess. He's like, in the hospital and all, but he's not dead or anything. And I guess like Jordan thought he sounded okay or whatever. So…I hope so."

 _Shit_.

"Do you know how it happened?"

"I don't know. I guess he was probably like driving too fast, but I don't anything else."

 **…**

Excusing himself to go get a drink, Guy quietly got up and walked out of the classroom.

Julie needed to know.

 _All_ of the Ducks needed to know, but especially Julie.

First, though, he needed to go get some fresh air, because his heart felt like it was in his feet.

* * *

Julie, meanwhile, was still back in her dorm room.

Still suspended.

Still dealing with a life in limbo.

The more time passed, the more she realized that she wasn't sure _what_ she wanted.

 **.**

After all, Edina was a long way from Bangor…in more ways than one. She missed her friends back home. She missed the lobster boils, and her and her mom's trip to grocery store every Wednesday evening. She missed the way they'd always stop by Manzetti's Bakery on the way back, enjoying the last few minutes of peace before returning to a world of rowdy teenage boys, and arguments about homework.

She missed going to a school where people already _knew_ her knew her, and where there wasn't as much time spent discussing who's dad could afford what. She missed having teachers who thought about things other than test scores, and classmates who didn't alternate between calling her a dyke and a slut.

As much as she loved the Ducks, and as good of an opportunity as she knew Eden Hall was, the more that she thought about it, the more she realized how much she was missing back in Maine.

 **.**

Plus, she had to admit, Adam or no Adam, Eden Hall was pretty depressing. The very qualities that made it a "good opportunity" also made it a hopeless pressure cooker…a pressure cooker that she wasn't so sure she minded escaping.

 _Maybe it would all be for the best_.

Flipping through the TV channels, she settled on an episode of The Price is Right, happy to try to replace her racing thoughts with Bob Barker and the prices of dinette sets.

* * *

Staring up at the florescent lights as he lay back in a hospital bed, it became clearer and clearer to Adam that he had, in fact, been a moron.

..

The first couple of days, he'd been so medicated that the full reality of his situation hadn't _quite_ sunk in. He knew he hurt, and he looked like shit, but beyond that, the pieces weren't fully registering.

Now, though, the pleasant haze of morphine was starting to wear off, and it was all becoming real.

He _really_ hurt; too much to sit up. Too much to roll over. Too much to move or think or breathe. With his head propped up, he could look down over his body, and survey the mountains of bloodied flesh. So many fluids had been pumped into him during surgery that he now regretted every crack he'd ever made about Brian McGill's weight; he himself looking more like a pale Greg Goldberg. Staples ran across his bloated belly, and everywhere he glanced, something was either stitched or bandaged or connected to plastic tubing. As much as he'd dreaded seeing his face after that first moment waking up in the hospital, it'd somehow still proven the _least_ horrific surprise: Five stitches in his nose and seven in his lip hardly counted as a concern compared to how the rest of him had fared. Even the shards of glass working their way out of his jaw were more a macabre collection than anything else; not counting the one in his cheek that he was pretty sure could be re-used to build a house someday.

…

The doctors assured him that everything would go back to normal eventually.

That he'd quit looking like the Pillsbury Dough Boy, and that the missing piece of his liver would grow back. That as swollen and horrible as his knee looked, most of the damage would heal just fine on its own within a couple of weeks. That all of the places that were supposed to have flesh would have flesh, and that all of the places that weren't supposed to have tubes wouldn't have tubes, and that aside from a couple of scars, in two or three months, everything would be exactly the way it was before.

At the moment, though, that all seemed like a bit of over-optimism on their part.

No doubt about it, whatever he'd done, or had tried to do, he'd only made his life worse.

* * *

"Are you sure we're like, allowed to see him?"

"Meh, I didn't ask. But we'll figure something out."

Connie and Guy sat side by side on the city bus, Connie's head leaned against Guy's shoulder as they bounced over potholes. Around them, they sat surrounded by Julie, Ken, Charlie, and Fulton, all talking quietly amongst themselves as they made their way to the hospital downtown.

"And he's okay?"

"Okay might be a stretch. But it sounds like he'll be alright."

Outside, the sun shone over the fresh canopy of trees; a perfect spring day for a picnic or stroll through the park. Looking out through the grimy bus windows, the incongruity of it all was almost too much to bear.

Days like this weren't supposed to be perfect and sunny.

Days like this weren't supposed to happen at all.

"I just can't believe it…"

"I know."

"And he's always so careful…"

Connie chewed at a hangnail on her thumb as she looked down at her feet. Focusing on her Steve Maddens, she tried not to think too hard about her words a couple of evenings prior.

"I don't know how something like that could just happen…"

"And how are we just now finding out about this?"

"None of us ever called." Fulton quietly reminded Charlie, never glancing up from his textbook.

"And some dudes at Shattuck did?"

Overhearing, Ken just shrugged.

"Yeah, but that's just how it works. Their families are probably friends with his or something."

"That's bullshit."

"That's Edina, dude."

"Same thing."

As the city skyline appeared in the distance, the Duck conversations once again trailed off. Connie nuzzled in closer to Guy, embracing the warmth of his touch as she breathed in the familiar scent of Astra laundry detergent and peppermint. Meanwhile, Charlie stared out the window, the last part of their conversation echoing through his mind.

 _Their families are probably friends with his or something_.

It seemed like that sort of thing came up a lot lately.

 **...**

Half an hour later, the bus was long gone, and they were standing in the glass-walled room of the Hennepin County Medical Center, trapped in a fish bowl; the bubbling diver and plastic treasure chest replaced with vinyl seating and IV poles.

"So how are you feeling?" Connie asked, counting the tan specks on the linoleum so that she wouldn't have to look up.

"I've never been better." Adam deadpanned, starting to prop himself up for a moment before a wave of pain shot through his body; the agony radiating from his belly down through his fingers and toes until it took everything he had not to pass out.

" _So much for that plan."_ He thought to himself with a sigh.

.

Sense of propriety be damned, he was going to be stuck lying flat on his back as everyone stood around the bed.

.

"You've never looked better." Guy agreed.

"No shit. If I don't get named 'Sexiest Man Alive' this year, I'm going to know it's rigged."

"For sure. You've got that one in the bag."

"It's really not fair for one person to look _this_ good." Adam mused, his smile back.

"I find myself saying that a lot…"

"Yup. Because you're always looking at me."

"Exactly."

Reaching over for a hand, Julie squeezed Adam's fingertips, careful not to disturb any of the IVs.

He looked so pitiful, but she was bound and determined not to let it show.

After all, he had enough to worry about.

Her thumb brushing over the top of his fingernails, she looked into his eyes, and was relieved to see that other than looking a bit tired, they were just as she'd remembered. The rest of him might have been unrecognizable, but the parts that still mattered were still the same.

"So how much longer will you be in here?"

"The next five zillion years."

" _Really_ now?"

"Okay, or like another week or two." He smiled, the stitches in his bottom lip pulling. "But these sheets suck, so it might as well be the same thing."

Laughing, Julie felt of a pillowcase before nodding in agreement.

"That really is adding insult to injury."

"Seriously. Don't they think people in here have enough problems, already?"

"That is pretty cruel."

Ken just chuckled.

"This conversation is definitely not dispelling any cake eater stereotypes."

"Ah yes, because nobody goes harder than a San Francisco figure skater."

"We're tougher than we look." He argued back, well aware that standing next to Fulton, he looked all of three feet tall, his baggy khakis making him appear more undersized than 'gangster'.

 _Low bar_.

"Yeah. You have to be tough to wear glittery spandex in public."

"I feel like all of the guys on the team, you would _definitely_ be the one second most likely to wear glittery spandex."

"Of course. I'm one of the only ones with a body to pull off glittery spandex.

Quiet for a moment, he glanced down at this swollen body, the roundness of everything visible even though a hospital gown.

"Well, I _was_ one of the only ones with a body to pull off glittery spandex."

* * *

"Yeah, and some prick over at Shattuck knew before I did."

 **.**

That night, back at their dorms, Charlie tried to focus on his homework, but he couldn't get that fact out of his head. His friend nearly died, and Jordan Ser knew before he did.

Jordan Ser the Hawk.

Jordan Ser who was off at boarding school two hours away.

Not that it mattered.

What mattered was that the doctor said Adam could expect to eventually make a full recovery.

Still, it hurt.

The whole system hurt.

He'd tried to forget about it. For awhile, he did—seeing Adam lying in that hospital bed, it didn't seem important who found out about it from whom. After all, his good friend was lying there, bloated from all of the medications and in too much pain to sit up, _still_ trying to be the perfect host.

 _That_ was what mattered. That Adam was alive. That he would be alright. That he was still him; albeit in less Calvin Klein model-ish form than usual.

But then, as the city bus dropped him back off at Eden Hall, he passed by Thad and Crawford smoking behind the bleachers with some cheerleaders; a leggy blonde practically hanging off of Crawford.

Nobody cared that they were smoking.

Nobody cared that Thad was 10 lbs. overweight, or that Crawford's chin was always broken out, or that he had a chipped tooth in front, or that Thad never could find his homework, and once broke his nose running into a pole in gym.

By sheer virtue of living in nice neighborhoods, and having parents who worked in fancy offices, nobody really cared about how mediocre they were. They got to enjoy all of the benefits of Eden Hall, regardless.

 **.**

 _They_ got to know what was happening, without having to hear about it from Guy, who heard about it from Erica, who heard about it from Stephanie, who heard about it from some random cousin who was blowing Jordan Ser.

 **.**

"Damn. Cakeeaters."

At the other end of the line, Jesse sat in his Milwaukee bedroom, throwing a Nerf ball back and forth between each hand as Charlie filled him in on what was happening.

The call was long distance, but after a summer of sharpening skates at Hans' shop, Charlie had the pocket money to spare.

Besides, he needed to talk to somebody.

"You have no idea. This school is seriously such bullshit."

"All schools have bullshit." Jesse reminded him, eyeing a picture on his nightstand of him and the gang out on the frozen pond, his scarf blowing in the wind.

"Not like this place."

"Remember the time DeMarcus got stabbed because someone said he said Tony's sister was a slut? Or when Patrice called the cops on Lafayette because he wouldn't share his chicken nuggets with her?"

"Yeah, but that was different. That was ghetto-stupid. This is just rich preppies being rich preppies."

"So you'd rather go back to dudes getting stabbed over whether Lisa Colletti's a slut?"

.

"I don't know." Charlie sighed. "At least that bullshit made sense. I was _used_ to it. Here it's just…I don't know. It's like I'm not even a person."

"See, now _that_ sounds like some whiny cakeater shit right there. Ain't nobody back in our old neighborhood talking about how they ' _don't even feel like a person anymore_ ' because some cheerleader heard shit before they did."

"Thanks. Asshole."

"You know I'm right man."

"Maybe."

"No 'maybe' about it. Keep it up and you and your little Hawk buddies will be wearing matching puffy coats and crying to your parents about how the ghetto kids wouldn't share their porn with you."

"Whatever."

"I ain't playin'. You won't even be hanging out with the tough ones. You'll be hanging out with like, Ben Morgan or something."

"Jerk."

"You know it's true…"

"Is not."

"Is too."

"Is not."

"Next thing I know, you're going to be asking Banksie where he gets his underwear monogrammed so you two can be twins."

"Screw you."

"Yeah. That's _exactly_ what you'll be wanting to do."

"Not like that. Fag."

"Yeah. Sure. Cakeeater."

* * *

"You love me even if I look like this?"

 **…**

A few minutes after arriving, the other Ducks had gone back home, chased away by an overweight nurse and their desire to make it back to Eden Hall before dinner. Julie, on the other hand, made it no further than the bus stop before she realized she needed little more time with a certain somebody.

Dumb boy or not, she missed him.

Also, looking down at him earlier in that hospital bed, she _really_ needed some extra reassurance that he was alright.

 **.**

Walking back through the door of his room, a smile overtook his face when he saw her. As she made his way over to his bedside, she leaned down and kissed the top of his forehead, thankful for that one little piece of him that was still intact enough to touch. Nuzzled up against him, she longed for the familiar scent of his cologne, rather than hospital antiseptic and sweat. Still, he was him, and that was what mattered.

Even with an IV in the way, he managed to put an arm around her, pulling her in closer until their lips brushed.

For a brief, glorious moment, all was right with the world.

And then, he grew quiet.

 **.**

As he chewed at the side of his cheek, Julie realized what a she'd made a mistake.

She shouldn't have bothered him.

He'd been weary by the time that the other Ducks left; his eyes already closed by the time she snuck one last peek at him through the glass doors of the ICU. After all that he'd been through, the nurse was right—he really did need his rest and privacy. He needed that _far_ more than she needed the extra few minutes together.

Gathering her purse from the ground, she kicked herself for being so selfish.

Just as she got to the door, however, he started to speak.

His heart pounding, the three words he'd been trying to say since eighth grade finally came spilling out, he himself shocked at how confident he sounded.

"I love you. I love you so much, Julie."

 **…..**

"I'd love you if you looked like this _forever_ , you dork." She reassured him, squeezing his fingers as she sat at the edge of his bed.

Looking down, he was no longer pale or bloated or sick. He was just _him_.

"Hospital gown and all?"

"This is _you_ we're talking about. If you ever find a girl who doesn't think you're hot in a hospital gown, you might as well just break up now, because she's going to be in for a lot disappointment."

"Thanks." He chuckled, a wave of pain once again shooting through his body.

 _This was really the wrong time to pick someone with a good sense of humor._

"Sorry."

"Heh, I'll forgive you."

"Good.

"Besides, it's still manlier than the sweater vests."

"I take back what I said earlier." He corrected, his eyes twinkling. "I do _not_ love you, Julie Gaffney! You are mean and hurtful, and you lack a proper appreciation for sweaters."

"I like sweaters. I just don't think they're supposed to be made into vests."

"And that is why I no longer love you."

"I think you're wrong." She laughed, trying not to think about how much she longed to have him in her arms again, cuddled up together. "I think you do still love me."

 _How is he still so adorable?_

"Nope. Never again. From now on, it's just me and my sweaters, living happily ever after."

"Uh huh. Sure."

"Try me. My sweaters and I have been together far longer than you and I have."

"Fine. I love you and your stupid sweaters."

"That's more like it."

For the next hour, Julie sat at his bedside, her fingers entwined with his. As he slowly drifted off to sleep, he felt better than he had in months.

He might not be very good at sitting up, and he might not ever play hockey again, but if nothing else, Julie finally knew how he felt.

And she seemed to feel the same way.


	28. The Truth

Ten days later, Adam was finally back at home, resting in the comfort of his own bed.

Despite his belief that absolutely nobody liked him, and that he had zero friends in the entire universe, his room seemed to indicate otherwise; an impressive number of flowers and balloons and cards lining every flat surface. The cheerleaders had made a giant banner that now hung above his door, wishing him well in red and black bubble letters. Most of Varsity had signed the banner as well, excluding Rick and two of his cronies.

Mrs. Larson, still convinced that starvation was a concern, had left him with a two-foot stack of Tupperware containers, filled with enough baked goods to feed a fat camp. Beside that was a card from several of the former Hawks who were now playing at Shattuck; Brian McGill unable to resist the urge to write 'Yure gay HOMO' in sloppy manuscript.

Best of all, though, was the purple and teal box Connie had put together, filled with old pictures and notes from all of the Ducks. Included was a long handwritten letter from Julie, expounding upon the fact that she did, in fact, love him quite a lot.

Pessimistic though he could be, he had to admit, she was probably telling the truth.

After all, she'd come to visit nearly every day.

….

During that thirteen days in the hospital, he'd longed to be back at home; back to the world of good sheets and down pillows, with no tubes or IVs sticking out of anything.

Unfortunately, now that he _was_ home, he remembered why his house was never just a real hot spot for hanging out. As he lay in bed, he could hear Scott's melodrama playing out through the walls; his mostly off-again girlfriend Sloane having decided to get engaged someone with a job and fewer than six illegitimate children.

.

"Come on. What can some dumb shit lawyer give you that I can't?" Scott plead into the phone, his bravado already giving way to desperation.

"Of course he's a fuckin' dumb shit."

"What do you mean I don't have my shit together?"

.

Adjusting his pillow, Adam did his best not to laugh. The staples and drains had all been taken out the day before, but having his ab muscles cut apart had taken it's toll: Moving was not for the faint of heart.

.

Besides, as absurd of a question as it was, it wasn't funny for Scott.

Sloane _was_ his Julie.

Sloane had been there since Breck; back when Scott has just a goofy seventh grader with low self-esteem and a feathered mullet.

.

"Just last year I went to—"

"Of _course_ that's a college. Why else do you think they have the word 'college' in it?"

"Who the fuck are you to say what counts? What are you? The Princeton fuckin' Review?"

"You're always doing this shit to me." His voice cracked as the tears started to well up in his throat. "You're as bad as my fucking dad. Nothing's ever good enough for you, is it?"

"Just, give me like, six months. I'll be the most responsible fucker you ever met."

"But I wasn't serious about it those times. _Please_ Sloane."

"You know what? Fine. Gold digging bitch."

 _"Dangit."_ Adam thought, his own track record not forgotten. _"Dad really did have a point about the whole 'family full of Mongolians' thing_ …"

"Of course I'll say it. That's what you fuc—"

"Look, I'm sorry. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. Just-just let me prove it."

"No. You can't do this. Why are you doing this to me?"

"I love you. I need you."

"He's not good enough for you."

"Just-just…I don't know…"

As the conversation tapered off, Adam reached over for his Walkman. Turning it up, he let Eel's ' _Novocaine for the Soul_ ' drown out the sobs coming from next door. As Scott turned to punching yet more holes in the drywall, Adam pulled Mr. Fluffy in tighter against his chest, yearning for the relative peace of the hospital.

* * *

Over the next few days, life in the Banks' house only continued to devolve.

As the initial anger tapered off, the truth sank in for Scott: Sloane wasn't going to be coming back.

After eight years, she'd given up.

Three holes in the drywall, a broken mirror, and twelve stitches in his hand later, he decided to take a page from his mother's playbook. Without Sloane to yell at him, hooking up with Waffle House waitresses just wasn't the same.

Instead, too depressed to be bothered with soap or changing clothes on a regular basis, he and Bunny would just spend every day lying in their respective beds, drinking boxed wine as they pondered the futility of life.

.

"For fuck's sake, dumbass. This is why she left you!" Phillip's voice bellowed through the house one afternoon, jolting Adam from his nap.

Half asleep, Adam glanced at his watch and saw that it was 4:15. Rolling over, he folded the pillow over his ears, hoping to go back to sleep.

"Fuck you."

"Fuck you, you fuckin' dipshit. How hard is it to grow some fucking balls?"

 _"Why did I ever want to leave the hospital?"_ Adam pondered as he heard the familiar clang of a hockey trophy shattering against the wall. Rolling over again, he reached onto the nightstand for his Walkman, well aware that nothing about the exchange in the next room was going to be _improving_.

"Go to hell."

"Grow up, you fuckin' sack of shit."

"Fuck you."

This time, things grew quieter for a moment, Phil's voice softer when he spoke again.

"You want Sloane back? Then try acting like an adult. Get out of bed. Go to school. Get a job. _Something_."

Even over the music, Adam could hear the crack in his brother's voice as the discussion next door continued. He could see in his head the tears running down Scott's cheeks; the cycle of life in the Banks' house continuing unchanged.

"What? So I can be more like you?"

"Yes! No. I don't know…you can't…you can't stay in bed for forever. You have to do _something_."

"It's too late…"

"Probably."

…..

Before long, Phil could be heard walking down the steps as Scott continued to lay in bed sobbing.

Guilt getting the better of him, Adam pried himself from the bed and walked over to Scott's room; his knee still reeling as he stepped over a pile of empty beer cans and a handle of Popov. Sitting down on the other end of Scott's bed, he moved a decapitated hockey trophy to the nightstand to make room for himself.

"You alright?" He asked, lying down next to his big brother.

"No."

* * *

Slowly, the world began to improve.

Scott began to shower again. The war between Phil and his eldest son quieted; their daily shouting matches down to one or two a week. Scott came in one day announcing that he'd found a job with a roofing crew, nailing shingles on McMansions for $7.15 an hour.

Larson's parents ungrounded him, leading to such compelling conversations as 'I bet Shanda has great tits' and 'Garret says Brian and Jordan were making out behind the bleachers, but Brian says it was just a chick with short hair who kind of looked like Jordan but was actually totally a female and was way hot from the front'.

As for Adam, day by day, he began to feel a more like himself.

The gash in his nose and the glass in his cheek healed nicely, leaving no indication of what he'd looked like in the hospital. His knee remained stiff, and he was still swollen and sore from the surgeries, but things were getting better. He no longer looked too much like Goldberg's long lost WASP-y twin, and he could sit up without trouble.

He was also well enough to do the things he'd promised himself he'd do if he lived.

.

One afternoon a couple of weeks after returning home, he found the nerve to speak with Coach Wilson.

He didn't say a word during the five minute ride to Eden Hall, instead chewing at his fingernails until they bled. As he limped past the Varsity locker room into Glenn Wilson's office, the smells were exactly as he remembered, and he could hear his pulse thumping in his ears.

Still, he did what he needed to do.

Rick Riley wasn't going to be coming back the next year.

 **.**

Better, while he was still in the hospital, Phil made the appropriate arrangements with the school.

As part of Julie's "community service", she was put in charge of bringing him his homework every afternoon once he was well enough…a chore that neither one minded in the least.

* * *

 _Come on, loser. It's time._

Adam stared in the mirror one afternoon, trying to brush an errant strand of hair into place.

That day, his bangs seemed to be having a mind of their own, and a shard of glass was working it's way out of his jaw, giving him a new empathy for his more complexion-challenged friends. The red bump below his cheek wasn't a big deal, but it was hardly _helping_ his self-esteem.

Worse, looking down, he was no longer sure what was still swelling from surgery, and what was just too many weeks of Cheetos...either way, he was rounder than he remembered; his clothing options now limited to the elastic and oversized.

 _"So Julie."_ He imagined himself saying as he tried in vain to button a pair of khakis. _"Have you thought about how sexy accountants are lately? What about those Junior Vice Presidents over at the bank? Compensation analysts? Because if so, I've got the man for you!_ "

...

Giving up on his too-snug khakis, he threw on a pair of Umbros and one of Scott's old sweatshirts just as Julie arrived. Taking a deep breath, he walked downstairs to let her in, the whole time fighting back tears.

This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have.

This wasn't a reality he wanted to live.

 _"Damn it_." He thought, shaking his head as he approached the door.

Glancing out, he saw that she she'd picked that of all days to wear a new sundress. With white eyelet fabric and a plunging neckline, there was no longer any denying that the universe had purposely set out to torture him; his self-esteem and things downstairs moving in tragically opposite directions.

 _Seriously, God?_

Taking a second to adjust himself before actually letting her in, the two made their way upstairs, just as they had every day.

As she filled him in on Charlie's failed math test and the lunchroom fight between Erica Tate and Tricia Micek over whether Erica told Crawford that Tricia had herpes, he smiled and nodded, doing his best to shake away the sadness that threatened to consume him.

.

There was no way that she'd stay with him once she knew.

She could have anybody she wanted, and Star Hockey Player Adam Banks was enough of a stretch. Without hockey he was like a fish tank without fish.

No cute girl wanted a sad, empty fish tank.

.

"So I've got something to tell you." He admitted, his eyes focused down on the billowy section of his Ralph Lauren sweatshirt as they sat down.

 _I really should have saved this conversation for later._

 _You know, once I'm able to fit into pants again._

"What?"

"So uh—"

 _It's not too late. You don't have to tell her._

 _Go ahead; make something else up._

He stuttered for a moment, well aware that as soon as she knew the truth, she _would_ be leaving him for someone could still play hockey and wear normal clothes.

"Crap. I don't know how tell you this. My hockey career is over. Just, you know, so you'll know."

"Wait, _what?_ "

"I'm sorry. I should have told you sooner."

Julie's eyes grew wide as his words sank in.

"No. I didn't mean it that way." She clarified, shaking her head in disbelief. "I just mean…oh my gosh…I don't know…

"It's okay."

"It's not. Hockey has always been like, everything to you."

"Yeah. It kind of has." He shrugged, still looking down.

 _It and you._

 _The two things I'm about to lose_.

"I just. I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry—"

Hearing the sadness in her voice, he finally looked back up, meeting her watery eyes. Taking hold of her hand, he entwined his fingers with hers as he pulled her in closer.

" _I'm_ sorry." He apologized softly, holding her tight. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't upset me. I just can't believe that. You always worked so hard…"

"It's okay. I've known for awhile now."

"I just—I love you so much. I hate that for you."

 _Wait…what?_

Adam could hardly believe what he was hearing. Sure, she had said she loved him back when he was in the hospital, but he'd assumed that was some combination of relief at the fact that he wasn't dead and an assumption that he still had a future.

'NHL-hopeful Adam Banks' had a few redeeming qualities.

'Sad future middle management loser-Adam Banks', on the other hand...

"You still love me even if I can't play hockey?" He asked, his face flushing pink.

 _This was not possible._

"Well yeah." Julie chuckled, leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek. "That's kind of the nature of 'love'.

Realizing that a kiss on the cheek just _wasn't_ going to satisfy her, she went in for a real kiss this time, his pillowy lips exactly what she was craving. Pulling herself in even closer, she was nearly on top of him, careful to rest the weight on her elbows so that she wouldn't hurt him further.

 _I could really stand to get him out of these clothes_.

A slightly puffy Adam still every bit as delicious as she remembered, her hands took the opportunity to explore the new, softer contours of his body. Even without six pack abs and perfectly sculpted shoulders, he was as delightful as ever; his appeal running far deeper than hard muscles. Savoring every second of their closeness, she took in the the softness of his lips and the way that he tasted like spearmint; the smell of laundry detergent mixed with Acqua Di Gio and soap. She fluttered kisses along his neck and jawline, her hands caressing his back and lifting his shirt over his head.

Carefully running a finger over the pink scar that ran from belly button to chest, she simply looked up into his eyes and smiled.

"I think you're amazing, Adam Banks. Hockey or no hockey, I think you're one of the most incredible people I know."

"I love you more than anything, Julie." He whispered, rolling over so that his forehead rested against hers. Giving her another gentle kiss, he then laid back down beside her, taking her hand in his. "For as long as I live, I'll always love you."

"Forever and ever?"

"Forever and ever and ever"


End file.
